


Russia X Reader: Detachment

by KittyOnMars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Historical Hetalia, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:09:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 202,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyOnMars/pseuds/KittyOnMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and your brothers, Ludwig and Gilbert, have just lost the war and now you are having to be separated until further notice. However, you wouldn't let Gilbert be taken away by Ivan alone. You must go with Gilbert to Russia and make sure Ivan doesn't kill Gilbert for what's left of his power...or yours...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This relationship will be between you and APHRussia and you are Prussia and Germany's little sister (and a complete badass/bossass bitch). There aren't really a lot of Russia X readers, so I thought I would make one.  
> Just to let you guys know, this fic will contain a lot of mature content like swearing and sexual themes, and feelings (don't hate me..please...), Hetalia, and it will be in chapter form. Russia will be quite a jerk for the first couple of chapters, but he'll start to change after a while. I don't know how long I will make the entire fic, but I'm making this up as I go. I do not own Hetalia or it's characters. I've also posted this on Deviantart as KittyOnMars, too.  
> Hope you enjoy this Hetalia fic ^u^

September 9th, 1945

Hurt. Hurt was the only emotion that kept coiling in your heart as your brother, Gilbert, knelt on the muddy ground, crimson soaking his angelic, silver hair and over-sized, but thin clothes. His head was down, his eyes covered in bandages, bloody splotches inked through the location of both his eyes. He was disgustingly skinny....horrifyingly skinny...so skinny he could almost be mistaken for a skeleton. So skinny, he could burst into dust and get carried away by the cold, dry wind. His clothes were nearly five times his size, but it gave him no warmth at all.

Festering, gushing, and bleeding, the large gash on his side continued to cry more blood. It was beginning to cease it's leaking, but it needed to be treated soon or the streaming would get infected with god knows what. You could hear him breath, but very faintly. You clenched your jaw as you heard him start to wheeze, tightening your bound hands into fists of steel that could destroy the earth in one, strong punch.

Tilting your head down, (h/c) hair blocked your vision. You couldn't stand looking at him, knowing there was nothing you could do to help him at the moment. You could hear your other brother, Ludwig, start to curse under his breath through gritted teeth beside you. Hot rivers started to stream down his cheeks as you turned your head to glance up at him through your (h/l),(h/c) hair. Head tilted down, his piercing blue eyes were clamped shut in a mess of anger, sorrow, and complete regret. His hair was slicked back, but a few small, golden hairs drooped towards the ground. Red was soaking through the small, bandaged cuts that he had on his neck and and cheek.

There were many more wounds and rosy bruises under his clothes, but he couldn't even hide those from you. His hands were cuffed in front of him, unlike you and Gilbert, who's hands were tied behind your back, which was strange. He was in his regular olive colored uniform, but it was covered in black splotches. Blood. Gilbert's blood. Hours ago, Ludwig tried to clean Gilbert up as best he could with the small amount of time he had before his hands were cuffed, but he had no such luck in trying to stop the stubborn bleeding.

You dropped your gaze back down to the muddy ground that the three of you knelt on, hands bound. It was 6 o'clock in the morning, 6:12 to be exact. Thankfully, the three of you were still in Berlin...or what was left of it. The sun was climbing it's way off of the horizon, but the sky remained chilling and pitiful with clouds of misty grey, no rays of sunshine to warm up your icy bodies. The world around you was looming with defeat. You quietly grunted, wishing this had never happened, hoping that you would wake up from this disgusting, sick, and horrifying nightmare. But this was real. This is real, this is not a dream. This nightmare is reality. The Allies had won, the war was over nine days ago, the Axis had fallen. And Berlin was captured.

The wheezing of Gilbert and the soft, wet cursing of Ludwig was racing in your head, blocking out the faint, muffled talk of the Allies. The Allies were going over the plans they had for you and your siblings, about who was to control the three of you and whether or not you should all be separated or kept together. You smiled in disgruntle, knowing they would never keep the three of you side by side. The trial for the three of you was over within days of the war's ending. The judges had only verified you as guilty. It was now up to the Allies to decide your fates.

The other countries, Feli and Lovino, were being watched as well, but for a longer time. Kiku, however, was currently fighting and taking up arms in the Pacific with the American. Though he was still holding up well, he had extremely serious and unholy damages. Feli and Lovino had taken a number of damages as well, but it wasn't too serious for them.

You overheard Francis engaging in a conversation with Alfred the night before. If you were to be separated, Francis would take you in. You were pretending to be asleep as you rested on the freezing cold floor with your brothers in the compact room you were given for the short nights. Francis and Alfred were watching you like hawks from the doorway, careful not to let you or your brothers escape or plan one. You couldn't sleep last night, not out of fear that you would be taken away, but because you were afraid of what would happen to Gilbert and Ludwig.

You were a strong, powerful, and ruthless country and you could handle the most unpleasant beatings. That and Francis was too much of a coward to even dare to push you. You only had a few minor slashes on your arms and one large, annoying lesion on your chest that abused your lungs when you inhaled and exhaled. But you were frightened of what would happen to your brothers, especially Gilbert.

Gilbert was so incredibly weak from this long war. He was one bad punch away from dying from where he knelt. Even a small gust of wind would shatter his fragile figure. You gritted your teeth and your face flushed with indignation at the thought of Ivan taking Gilbert. You wouldn't allow it. You knew how much of a brute Ivan could be, even though you had never met him in person before, but you had seen him at numerous world conferences. Always, Gilbert would pull you away from the towering man, making sure that you weren't too close to him. You understood why.

You've had your fair share of battles with him during this war, but not as many as your brother. Gilbert and Ivan have always had an icy relationship, even before you were a country. They have a history of wars together, and Ivan lost a good amount of land because of them. Not to mention the amount of damage you and Gilbert did in Stalingrad. But Russia was the largest country already. _And he wants more._ And now that the Soviets had taken Berlin first, Ivan would most likely take this opportunity to mutilate, and possibly even kill Gilbert for what's left of his power. Or worse, he could make Gilbert's territory a permanent part Russia. _Over my dead body..._ You sneered in your thoughts.

You weren't too worried about Ludwig. Ludwig could take care of himself, but he was emotionally sensitive about Gilbert's well-being. He loved Gilbert as much as you did and he didn't want anything to inflict pain on him, never again. Last night, before he descended into a fitful sleep with Gilbert cradled in his arms, he kept repeating the same words over and over until his tongue ran sore. "It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault."

You felt so much pity towards him. You blamed Roderich for the entire mess. It was he who started the first world war and the second, but Ludwig had taken the blame for them. Your fists clenched even more. How you wished you could clasp your hands around Roderich's snotty neck and choke him like a fish out of water, squeezing every last breath of air out of him until he was nothing more than a dried hunk of flesh. But what pissed you off the most was that Roderich took little blame for this chaos.

Your face and the tips of your ears began to feel like they were being engulfed in flames, burning, fuming, and scorching. You hated this, all of this. It wasn't at all fair. You shook your head slightly, trying to stay calm and collected. _It'll be fine._ You reassured yourself in your head, as you lifted your head to see the beginning of Gilbert's knees on the marshy earth.

Ludwig jolted out of the corner of your eye as the Allies trudged over to the three of you, mud baking over their boots. Your head lowered as you heard a pair of boots halt behind you, a hand situated on your bindings, grasping them. Slowly and steadily, it hoisted you to your feet. The shuffling of fabric beside you and in front of you alerted you that your brothers were brought to their feet as well. You lifted your head, flipping your (h/c) hair out of your field of view.

You glanced over your shoulder. It was Francis. A pained, depressed smile appeared on his lips for a split second and then vanished into a frown. You sighed, dropping your gaze back down to the ground, awaiting the plan the Allies had for you and your brothers. Alfred paused, standing in the gap between Gilbert and you and your brother. Your heart was pounding with anticipation when Alfred began to speak. He hesitated for a brief moment and then started up again, painfully.

"We-- we've come to a conclusion on the plan we have for the three of you." Alfred said, his breathing was troubled. This wasn't going to be good. You raised your head slowly, noticing Ludwig was shaking in his boots, more from worry than cold. Your heart sank as Alfred continued, your (e/c) eyes widening. "There's no way to sugar coat this, but we have decided to have you all separated."

Ludwig's breathing hitched, Gilbert nearly stopped breathing, almost choking on the words that poured out of Alfred's mouth. Your widened eyes fixed on Ivan. He was standing with Gilbert, a large, gloved hand firmly resting on Gilbert's bony shoulder. Gilbert's face was covered almost completely in bandages, but you could tell he was terrified, like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. He swallowed, painfully wincing. Gilbert looked as though he was being crushed under the weight of the towering Russian's hand. Your eyes only shot daggers of poison as the Russian smirked childishly with his innocent, violet eyes toying with yours.

His expression could be described as a child who had just won a game by cheating on every turn. You kept your glare on him as Alfred continued. "Germany will be taken by Britain and I. (Country name) will be taken by France...And East Germany will be taken by Russ-" Alfred was cut off by a Germanic tongue.

"No!" Ludwig's stance widened and staggered forward towards Alfred, only to be restrained by Arthur, his sky blue eyes brimmed with more tears. "Alfred, what do you think you are doing?" You felt yourself lean forward, hatred spiked up your spine as you hunched over in anger. Francis tightened his grip on your cuffs and clasped a hand on your arm before you could take another step towards Ivan.

Ivan only smiled more, savoring the pleasure in watching you struggle to get free of Francis's restraint. You lowered your face to the ground, shading everything with your hair. This can't be happening, you thought. "I'm afraid there's no other choice, Ludwig-" Alfred was interrupted again.

"No, you shut the fuck up and answer my question!" Ludwig spat, demanding the answer he wanted. Alfred sighed in pity, pushing his fogged glasses higher up on his nose, his blue eyes revealing more emotion. "Ludwig, Ivan took Berlin first. Therefore, he takes East Germany. You will be reunified after a few short years. The three of you will be fine. Gilbert will be fine."

You chuckled menacingly, but softly, at the obvious lie, catching everyone's attention. Gilbert even turned his head in your direction though he couldn't see what was going on. Lifting your head to Alfred, you gritted your teeth, showing them off like they were razors, no smile present from your previous chuckle. "I didn't know you were playing this war like a chess game, Jones." Your voice hissed like a deadly snake, warning that you were ready to strike.

Alfred nervously glanced at the ground, then at his mud-caked boots. "I'm trying to make this sound as friendly and painless as I can, (y/n). Ivan has promised not to lay a single hand on Gilbert out of harm." That response only made you crack an angry smile for a split second before returning to an enraged frown. "And you believe him?" You growled.

Ludwig started pleading, begging,and entreating as he fell to his knees, grabbing handfuls of mucky dirt and debris, squeezing them in his fists. "Don't do this...please..." He started sobbing, mud stuck to his forehead as he pressed his weight forward. "The war is all my fault, not my brother's-"

"Quiet, Nazi!" Ivan snapped at him for his pointless request, your eyes dropped to Ludwig's pitiful state. You kept your mouth shut, it was better hold your silence than start a war with the unhappy Russian, though you weren't afraid of doing so if it was necessary. Retreating your gaze back to the ground, your hair curtained your face.

"...Take me instead, goddammit..." Ludwig's response only pricked your rage even more. "...Ludwig.." Your voice squeaked, quietly in your defeated mind, noting that Ludwig wasn't going to stop pleading until he took his brother's place. You just wanted him to shut up, before you could break your bindings and slap a hand over his mouth out of irritation.

There was a long pause. The hair's stood up on the back of your neck as Ivan punctured the dead silence, his Russian accent heavy on his tongue. "We could recalculate our decision. I could take two of them with me. Less of a problem for you, with your debt and depression, Jones. Not to mention the fact that you're still at war with Japan, nyet?" He addressed in an upbeat tone towards Alfred. Ludwig pushed his forehead off the muddy earth, wiping muck off of his now cold, wet forehead with his stiff shoulder. His eyes were drowning in hot tears, his knees getting soaked in the bitter mud.

Alfred grunted in annoyance. "Ivan, our leaders already made the decision. We can't just change it so suddenly without their opprova-"

"I am aware of that, Jones." Ivan interrupted in a now intimidating voice, making Gilbert wince from the sudden, icy outburst, afraid he would be bashed by the Slavic's voice. "But it seems to me, Germany can't stand the separation. It will break his poor, little, baby heart to watch his big brother go. I'm sure Mr. Stalin wouldn't mind an extra guest. Besides, who took the capitol first? Oh, that's right. Me." He mocked, a smug smirk broadened his childish face.

The mock made you clench your teeth, the slashing wound on your chest was beginning to sting like needles from your heated breathing. You wanted to smash Ivan's irritating smirk into shards of glass, along with his perfectly bulbous nose. You couldn't let him take both of your brothers, not without a fight.

Alfred glared through his glasses at the sizable Russian, a sneer twitch onto his lips. Arthur spoke up, he was pissed off with the violet eyed maniac. "Knock it off, Ivan. They've had enough." Arthur's emerald orbs scorched like fire. "If you don't come around to the agreement we had, then piss off and find another country to dissolve." Ivan smiled, wickedly, nastily, yet strangely innocent.

"But I am a member of the Allies. So, I can have my opinion and second thoughts on this agreement. After all, I lost nearly all of my population due to these...delinquents." He opined in a smart-ass timbre, jerking Gilbert by his cuffs. _Fucking sadist._ You grunted in your head, praying that Ivan could somehow hear your honed, mental bark.

Slowly, he leaned down to Gilbert's ear, his lips just brushing the tips of your albino brother's ear. Gilbert shivered at the cold breath that crawled on the shell of his ear, he shuttered as Ivan's grip tightened like pliers.

 _He's baiting you. He wants you to go with him._ You mentally noted to yourself as you hatefully watched the sickening image in front of you. _He knows you're powerful. He knows you're strong. He's seen it. He's felt it._ You couldn't stand this, your eye twitched.

"Well, Gilbert, I guess it's just going to be you who's coming with me." He chuckled under his breath, but it was then silenced as you softly broke the giggle's duration. "I'll go..." You announced in a blank tone, your eyes gaping into the puddles of water that you created with your knees, your chest raging with discomfort.

You felt an eyebrow raise under Ivan's messy, beige-blond bangs. His smirk had decreased, but it still remained visible on his lips, lilac pupils narrowing into yours as you levered your face from it's curtain of hair. He was in his smug state again, more than satisfied with the decision you had made. His sly plan worked, he had won.

Ludwig gasped, snapping his head up to face you with wide, navy eyes, face flushed white as he jumped to his feet to confront you. Alfred, Francis, and Arthur remained silent, not sure what to say or think.

 Alfred looked at you, then to Ivan, then to you again. He did all of this while shaking his head in shocked disbelief and strong disagreement. "No. No. That's not happening, (Y/n). Don't even think about it."

"Oh?" Ivan cocked his head, staring directly at the American. "And why not? If she so desires to join her dear brother, then so be it."

"No. No." Alfred raised a finger at you, still exchanging glares at you and Ivan. "This is NOT what we agreed to! You are just to receive East Germany. Not her." He growled lowly, his brows furrowed with aggression.

Ivan had a controlled and reading glare on Alfred, tilting his head slightly upwards as his frown grew sterner. Then, his smile returned to his pale lips. "Oh, I see where this is going." He mumbled. "It's because of this Red Scare thing you've got going, isn't it?"

Alfred stared at him with a strong and sturdy gaze. "It's because of my government that you are so defiant to. Hmm? Are you afraid that I'll get my hands on (country name)?"

"Fuck you, Ivan." Arthur snapped boldly, his thick brows furrowing intensely. Ivan fought right back at the Englishman's sharp tongue. "Stay out of this, Kirkland!" His frown returned to his face, his eyes were deeply wrathful. His teeth were nearly gritting out of his mouth. He turned his attention back to Alfred.

"Now, I won Berlin and the Eastern Front fair and square. And I am NOT going to give this Nazi, " He shook Gilbert violently for a moment, "up to a country that is not even 200 years old! I've lost too much to receive nothing in return!"

You stared at Ivan in irritation, anger, and fear as he screamed bloody murder. Everyone was. "I deserve more than just a failed nation! I deserve to be brought back to the playing card table! Ludwig, Gilbert and (Y/n) must pay for their damage! Their land is mine! Their people are mine! THEIR BLOOD! IT'S MY PROPERTY!" Ivan shouted in his thick accent, causing Gilbert to tremble at his shrilling words. His eardrums must have been rattling with the loud yelling.

It went quiet for several moments. Ivan held his snake-like expression and Alfred held his. Finally, Francis, out of all people, spoke up. "We know what you'll use her for."

"I know that." You murmured loud enough for him to hear as you gazed at the puddles on the ground. No one else spoke after that. Alfred and Ivan continued to stare at each other. It was as if Ivan were waiting for the American to give in to his proposal and hand you over. But you looked up at Gilbert to see that his face was turned towards you. He was shaking his head faintly and briefly. _No_. He was saying to you. _Don't you dare come with me, you hear? You stay here with Ludwig._

Gilbert suddenly whimpered, clamping his blood-stained teeth, as his head was yanked back by his blood-matted hair, a colossal, gloved hand intertwined in his silvery strands. You and Ludwig staggered forward, only to be held back by Francis and Arthur. Clenching your jaw, Ivan stared into your sharp, (e/c) orbs, he was testing you and your blond haired brother. Blood boiled feverishly out of anger inside both you and Ludwig, wanting to break loose of your restraints and blitz Ivan where he stood. Ivan must have noticed Gilbert trying to persuade you to stay behind. He didn't like that.

"Let me go, you damn godless son of a bi-" He whimpered again, the iron grip tightening on his snowy hair. Smiling, Ivan darted his eyes at Gilbert's bandaged eyes, as if he could stare straight through them and into Gilbert's garnets.

There was a fire sparking in Ivan's eyes as he grudgingly spoke. "Your sister's actions tell me otherwise, Gilbert." Almost tenderly, he released his iron grip on Gilbert's hair, his hand retreating to Gilbert's cuffs. Gilbert shuttered shakily, his head falling forward, limp like a dead deer.

Lips quivering in rage, you growled under your steaming breath. Splinters of knives dug deep into your heart as your hatred for the man reached it's limit, your fists bawling, longing for his blood. Ivan cocked his head to Alfred. "Perhaps I could make a suggestion." He smirked, his overconfidence growing. Ludwig's breath ceased to exist as Alfred sighed in defeat after a few moments of silence.

 

 

 

It was noon...probably. Hell, you couldn't even tell with the grey still fogging the sky, blocking the warm rays of the sun. It was getting colder, even with the climbing sun. Out of the corner of your eye, Ludwig and Gilbert were shivering like hanging lights on a train. Though the temperature was strangely dropping by the minute, you were unaffected by the cold, mostly because you were a rather large island in the north of the Baltic Sea.

You began to see your breath cloud in front of you, increasing in opacity. The three of you were once again kneeling in a row on the depressingly, marshy ground, but side by side to each other, leaning into each other for warmth. As Gilbert rested his head into the crook of your neck to warm his nose, you glanced over at the Allies, who were currently in a heated and explicit argument meters away. You could see Arthur furrow his monstrous eyebrows at Alfred and began spitting fiery sentences at him. They were at their 5th disagreement. Francis joined their doltish, verbal quarrel, running his fingers through his saffron, shoulder length mane in an attempt to cool himself off.

Just as you were going to return your gaze to the murky puddles before you, you felt a pair of eyes staring at you. It was the Russian. That fucking smile...you wanted to smack it off. Narrowing your eyes, you watched as his smile slowly widened, amethyst irises lazily scanning your petite figure. Pulling away from his gaze, you peered into the puddles, then snapped your eyes shut. Gilbert's nose was still icy cold on your neck. It was tickling your skin. His wheezy breathing haunting your eardrums.

If your hands weren't bound, you would shelter him in a warm embrace, heating up his decreasing body temperature. You were surprised that he hadn't passed out from the blood loss and the freezing weather yet. You sighed. You were hoping that the Allies would come to a conclusion soon to get your brothers out of the cold....but at the same time, you didn't want Gilbert to go alone with Ivan just yet... _correction_...you didn't want Gilbert to get dragged off by Ivan, period.

You opened your eyes, shifting your head to face Ludwig. He was staring at the ground, depression painted his face, his eyes lifeless. He was no longer crying, nor cursing. Seeing them like this made you cringe. You had to talk to them. You were terrible at comforting and though your emotions were apathetic, jaded, bored, and irritated, you felt you had to brighten the mood for them before they left for their place in Hell.

"...Ludwig...Gilbert..." You whispered softly, similar to a mother's soothing tone. They both lifted their heads facing you, some emotion trailing back into Ludwig's face. "..You both owe me 100 packs of beer for this..." A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, trying not to chuckle at the idiotic words that spilled from your mouth. After a few moments of blank eyes staring back at you, Gilbert cracked up, snickering with a smirk on his fair lips.

Ludwig gave a dismal smile after Gilbert's snickering. "Sure, (y/n), sure." You couldn't help but give a fatigued smile as you rested your temple against Gilbert's concealed forehead, rubbing them side to side in tenderness. It was something you would do as a child with him, a brother and sister tradition before Gilbert would leave for war. Ludwig laid his head on Gilbert's shoulder, gently, careful not to bruise him from the weight. Gilbert moved his head towards Ludwig's, rubbing his purple, blemished cheeks against Ludwig's golden hair. This was most likely the last time the three of you would see each other for a couple of years.

After only a few short minutes you and your brothers were huddled together in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, head against head, close as possible. So close, your flesh started to ache from the pressure. You, Gilbert, and Ludwig let the salty seas overflow and escape your eyes. You all wept in silence, no sniffing or weighted breathing to be heard. And now, you were inaudibly sobbing from the nightmare that goes by the name 'separation'. Salty, humid rivers rolled down your (s/c) cheeks, your lashes soaked in wet. The slash on your chest began to leak crimson again, the pressure of your dense lungs tearing the lengthy, delicate scab.

"Ich liebe euch beide..." Ludwig's voice squeaked, his throat strained. Before you and Gilbert could reply, a rough hand pulled Gilbert up on his feet, a startled whimper bolted from his lungs. Alarmed and wide eyed, a crude hand yanked you to your feet as well. This wasn't Francis who was pulling you up, this hand was gloved... (h/c) hair hung in your face, soaking up any remaining tears on your cheeks to hide them from the victorious opponents. Shaking the rebellious hair out of your face, your eyes only stared into space as Arthur unlatched his jaw to speak.

"We have come to the conclusion..." He was forcing his words angrily, taking a deep breath, it hitched. "...to have West Germany watched under American, British, and French order." Ludwig was still puling silently, his blue eyes now a steel tone. He was entirely finished with today's judgement. You could hear a vehicle pull up nearby.

Steadily, your eyes fluttered shut, comprehending what was to be heard next. "East Germany and (country name) will be under Soviet order until further notice..." And just like that, Ivan's forceful hands pulled you and Gilbert away from Ludwig and the other Allies, a truck with a red star on the door; the Soviet Union star. "How could you...?" Ludwig whispered shakily, directing the hush towards Alfred, not moving at the slightest. The American kept his eyes stern as he watched you and Gilbert leave, clenching his jaw at the impossible and infuriating decision. "It's for the best." He replied painfully to the German. You locked your teeth together, silent streams washing down your tear-stained cheeks as you were assertively lead towards it with Gilbert. Eyes half lidded, you bawled your fists as Ivan spoke sweetly in a sing-song tone. "Don't forget to wave goodbye."


	2. Dark Horizons Ahead

Rattling, the truck thumped to the harsh rhythm of the makeshift road, everyone's head bobbing to the sudden jolts every now and then. Ink black, the sky descended its delicate, frozen dust as it was swept away by the grim winds. _Even in September it snows in this place._ It was definitely 2 o' clock in the morning, if not, later. You had been traveling for hours in silence, not a single word trembled from Gilbert either.

You were only slightly drowsy, since your country's people were mostly night owls, but the ongoing war had made your people more alert which caused them double the amount of energy and stress. Returning your sleepy gaze to the gloomy floor of the truck, the tip of your nose started to sting slightly to the gradual decreasing temperature. Though you were a northern country and you had regular, freezing temperatures, the air was growing much more cold than you were used to. You even started to get a few goosebumps up and down your disturbed arms.

You were wearing a long, black trench coat that reached your calves and collared around your neck, but it was not at all effective with the declining temperature. Your long, combat boots caked with dark mud. You huffed a cloud of breath from your mouth, knowing that you'll needed to clean and polish them soon. Your dark, skin-tight, tucked pants were completely unaffected and were somehow left untouched.

A red thread lingered on the right sleeve of your arm... When Austria's previous leader had taken over most of the Germanic countries, you had to stitch a Nazi swastika cuff on your sleeve, which was roughly ripped off by Ivan just before you boarded the truck... You would definitely have a bruise there...but it more than likely gave Ivan great pleasure to rip the symbol off. You didn't want to join the Axis at first, but the sly Austria insisted that Germany and Prussia join, promising them the world and more. _Second time's a charm he said..._

You eventually joined the Axis after hearing about their effectiveness, but you were still skeptical. _What if we lose just like the first world war? What if one of us is dissolved or even killed? What if blaming the Jews for the entire depression is completely false? What if the wrong people were elected?_ And it turned out that you were right about all of those points. You sighed once more, more clouds formed before your hot breath. _Basch and I were right all along..._ You thought.

Out of the corner of your drooping eye, Gilbert was shivering violently. His over sized, button up, white shirt was splotched with dried blood and clung to the gash in his side, which was still crying red liquid. His torn, black pants were coated in dried mud, along with his filthy, worn, lace up boots. God, he needed medical attention soon or he would catch hypothermia from this deadly, Russian weather. Gilbert had caught many diseases and took many brutal abrasions and survived, but this was the worst you had ever seen him. Unfortunately, there was no nurse or medic on the cramped truck. Five Red Army soldiers were in the truck with you and your brother, watching you from the opposite bench. _More hawks...go figure..._ A Soviet Lieutenant was sitting between you and your brother, armed and alert, probably 6 or 7 feet tall, all muscle. A pistol firmly gripped in his gloved hands, a Tokarev TT-33, semi automatic, accurate, and horrifically lethal. _Great..._ You sighed, tiredly. If only you could drape an arm around or hold Gilbert's hand or waist just to comfort him, but a move like that would have your brains blasted out through your skull. Your hands were still fettered, but now they were fixed onto the steel, skeleton bars of the truck. It was a ZIS-42M. Ivan made a smart decision to choose the truck's class, for the undaunted snow blanketed the knobbly ground and caused complications with transportation.

Ivan wasn't in the rickety truck, but he probably bundled up in his special transportation with countless luxuries. You tsked, angrily, but quietly, hatred was still boiling in your chest like blistering metal into water. Ivan could care less about Gilbert's health and depressingly malnourished state. He probably purposely didn't bring a medic so that Gilbert couldn't get immediate medical attention on the war-worn truck. Seeing Gilbert like this must bring him an unbelievable amount of pleasure. You knew you would get back at Ivan somehow. But for now, you could only try and withstand the cold.

 

 

 

"...Cold....so..f-fucking c-c-cold...." Gilbert stuttered faintly, shivering with every syllable, teeth chattering lightly. His legs were vibrating stiffly, bouncing and jolting to the endless, snowy voyage. How he wished he was home, sitting by a fire with a mug of beer in his hand and a steaming meal on his lap, the dogs sleeping on the rug and Ludwig and (y/n) beside him, singing songs of triumph and joy. _If only this war had never happened..._

Gilbert was still disoriented, the bandages temporarily blinding his poor vision. He knew it had been hours since they took off. He actually was able to sleep most of the time as they neared Russia's capital, Moscow. He smirked wretchedly, biting his bruised, bottom lip to hold back his stifled chuckles. _Ah Moscow...never thought I'd end up in that frozen hell of a wasteland...with that jackhole, Braginski._ Gilbert muttered mentally. _...as if I couldn't get a better death sentence..._

Choking on his saliva, Gilbert leaned forward, coughing weakly, wheezing like a dying horse. A metallic tang sprawled onto his tongue...more blood... "Awesome..." Gilbert sarcastically mumbled under his breath, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

His bindings held him back, keeping him from leaning too far forward. He sat up, though he was more hunched over. Thump. Bucking, the truck joggled coarsely, causing Gilbert's head to hit the wall of the truck. Thrack! "Fuck!..." Gilbert hissed, his head falling forward again, throbbing pain aching all over the crown of his skull. Thump. Thump. More rugged, jagged terrain. Gilbert's head thwacked against the hard bars behind him again, heavily.

Bang! A rigid bump thrashed the truck, everyone inside jolted off their seats for a moment, then landed back onto the benches. Gilbert was breathing heavily, wheezing as he felt his neck give out from the weak muscles that ran up his spine. Accidentally, he leaned onto the Soviet Lieutenant, thinking it was you. He felt a brawny arm shrug him off, crudely.

"Off!" A Russian accent was present in the harsh command. A few fainted laughs danced their way to Gilbert's ears, most likely coming from other soldiers in the truck. _Well, that's definitely not (y/n)..._ He mentally noted, scooting himself away from the strict Russian beside him. _(Y/n) must be somewhere in this damn truck...hopefully..._

Smiling, Gilbert was a little contented that you would be with him in Russia, an attempt to keep him safe from the commie and get him back to his normal, annoying, older brother self...even possibly help him escape if given the chance...but he was more concerned about the decision you had made by taking West's place and taking his beatings. Not even to mention what Ivan might do to you.

He would most likely try to use you for your power and new military skill and warfare. You were Gilbert's and Ludwig's little sister and that was more than enough to make him worry more about you. You were also very petite and you had the height of a child when standing next to any country, but you could easily eliminate anyone within seconds with your swift, lethal combat skills. You were raised by a Prussian. People would have to expect a soldier-like personality from you.

Gilbert knew you like the back of his hand, he literally knew everything about you, from what makes you tick to what you like on your toast in the mellow mornings. He especially knew you were powerful and deadly and hard to break...in fact, you had never been broken or defeated by any country before the second world war. This was your first defeat and Gilbert was surprised how well you took it.

He did expect those few tears you shed a few hours ago and the tears that fell when he was pronounced dissolved... _Oh, that look on her face..._ Gilbert thought, shaking his head gently to the dismal memory, a few strands of silver hair came loose of the bandages wrapped around his head. _...a part of her died on the inside...her eyes showed all of it..._

 

 

 

5 days after the end of WW2

 

The court room roared with tongues of different tones and accents as Gilbert slowly stood with Ludwig beside him, his eyes dripped crimson beads of blood. Even the whites of his eyes were a sickening bloodshot color. You gently rested a hand on his shoulder to help him look up at the judge. _An American judge... Well this is going to be a fair trial..._ Ludwig was breathing heavily, his chest heaving like it was going to explode. The scrapes on his neck were visible and oozing, black and purple bruises dotted his throat. His hair was slicked back, like his usual state, but it was a little sloppy around the edges. Tears were already brimming his blue eyes... Men and women of the Allied and Axis forces were shouting at the judge and each other before he called the room to order. BANG! BANG! BANG! Almost immediately, the hollering died down to an ear-ringing silence. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge straightened out, his fat head resting in his meaty hand as he received the verdict from the foreman. "We have, your honor." The foreman answered, returning to the jury's bench. You glared up at the cavalier judge, your (e/c) eyes darkening with detest, but your facial expression remained straight. _He could care less about my brother's sentence, even if it was death...it's not his brother who's getting punished..._ You thought, as the judge's eyes skimmed the verdict.

Sitting next to the jury, the Allies perched on their seats like vultures waiting for a meal. Alfred had his eyes fixed onto the judge, his torso leaning forward to hear the sentencing better, cleaning his glasses with a small cloth. Arthur, with his thick eyebrows furrowed, stared up at the judge as his posture straightened. Francis sat cross-legged, a gloved hand pressed against his unshaven chin as he leaned into it, his golden locks pooling on his shoulders. Yao wasn't present, obviously he was in a bit of a strife with Kiku in East Asia. The fighting didn't seem to cease between the two at the moment. Therefore, the Chinese ally could not attend the court case.

Ivan sat on his chair like a fucking king, a smug, contented smile plastered to his face. His gloved index finger tracing his strong jawline slowly, back and forth....he was thinking...which was obviously not at all good. It was quite obvious he was bored and had more important things to take care of, but this hearing was going to give him all the pleasure he would need.

Instead of his usual beige trench coat, he was wearing a dark green Soviet uniform with God knows how many medals on the pockets, a military hat stood stiffly on his head, a red band with a star on the front was strapped to the side band. His hair was covering half of his eyes, just short enough for him to see. His violet eyes were half lidded, lazily gazing at the judge...then his eyes darted straight into yours...he knew you were shooting daggers at him through your irate eyes. His smug smile only widened, a few teeth could be seen...his eyes getting more lidded. Slowly, you returned your gaze to the fat, American pig behind the judge's bench.

As your orbs, once again, scowled up at the judge, you felt a cold, bony hand lightly grasp your hand. Gilbert. You didn't have to look to see who's hand it was, but you glanced at him anyways. Smiling tiredly, he glanced at you, a few drops scarlet splashed onto the table. _Those beautiful garnets...ruined...slashed open..._ You painfully flickered a small smile to him, then you lowered your face to the floor, shutting your eyes. Gilbert steadily returned his face to the table, his other hand griping the edge. You squeezed and held your grip on his hand, informing him that everything was going to be okay.

He squeezed back...and then tickled the palm of your hand with his index finger...his attempt to make you feel better... You felt tears gather at the brims of your eyes, your throat forming a knot, choking your breathing. You heard the judge clear his throat. _...Hope- Hopefully no one will notice...these few tears...._ Thankfully, no one besides Gilbert did, even with his poor sight.

 

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, also known as Prussia and the Prussian Empire, as a nation of the Nazi regime, a nation of military power, disruption of peace, no organised political power whatsoever, and a threat to European nations, with this verdict and sentencing, it is in my greatest power to announce Prussia as officially dissolved without the right or power in any case to be recreated or dignified as a Germanic nation. Gilbert Beilschmidt. Ludwig Beilschmidt. (Y/n) Beilschmidt. On behalf of the European countries that you have invaded and launched war against. On behalf of the violations of the Treaty of Versailles. On behalf of the Jewish people of Europe. And on the counts of democide and politicide, you are all found guilty. In response to this, none of you may gain any territory for all eternity and you must all repay and rebuild whatever demolition you have brought upon Europe."

 

 

 

Immediately, the truck came to a complete stop, causing the passengers to lean into the gravity's pull and then stiffly straightening. ...We're here... The Lieutenant reached behind you, untying you from the bar and doing the same to your brother. "OUT!" He commanded, shoving you sternly out of the truck as soon as you stood up. You caught yourself as your boots crunched onto the snow-covered cobblestone pavement, hands still tied behind your back. The sky was dawning, the sun turning the sky a warm orange, snow gently falling from the scattered clouds.

Moscow looked more like a military city from the streets. Soldiers marching, running, and drilling along the cobblestone streets, trucks coming and going, Russian commands and the muffled thundering of boots could be heard everywhere. Two pairs of rough hands grabbed both of your arms and hands. Two Soviet soldiers held you tight, their grip very hard on your bruised arms, you clenched your jaw. Stumbling, Gilbert hopped out of the truck, landing weakly on his feet, slowly standing straight as the blood flowed to his head.

But as he tried to walk forward, the Lieutenant jumped out of the truck and shoved Gilbert down onto the snowy ground, hard. Gilbert coughed violently, spitting up blood onto the white snow, staining it. Wrathfully, you took an angry shove forward, attempting to break free of the soldiers and run over to Gilbert to help him up. But you were held back, tightly. Sighing, you unraveled yourself. It was smart for you to let this go. You didn't want to start a quarrel, not with Gilbert entirely defenseless with so many armed soldiers around. You calmed back down, lowering your shoulders, but keeping your fists clenched just in case. Gilbert was then scrapped up off the freezing cobblestone and grabbed by two soldiers, holding his arms and cuffs. Blood ran down his chin, flowing to his neck in beaded streaks.

"Lieutenant Volkov." _That voice..._ It was Ivan. Turning your head in the direction of the mellow voice, you spotted Ivan, his long scarf blowing like a flag against the light, cold breeze, his irritating smile lingering on his lips, still in his Soviet uniform. He came to a stop in front of the Lieutenant who was now at attention. Ivan then talked with Volkov in Russian. You put your head down, the cold wind was stinging your face and cut your cheeks, numb, but you couldn't help but to hone in on the chat between Volkov and Ivan. Hopefully, you could pick up some useful information...maybe for an escape plan...anything to get Gilbert and yourself out of communist hands.

Luckily, you understood Russian and was able to understand the conversation. It was talk about the voyage to Moscow and how the truck needed new tires and how you and Gilbert didn't cause any disruption or attempted an escape. Ivan chuckled and decided to end the conversation.

"I'll take them from here, Volkov. Tomorrow morning, you and your men can get back to East Germany to build the-" Ivan stopped suddenly. You were facing the ground the entire time, hair curtaining your face and eyes half lidded, tired. You had a haunch that Ivan must have caught you eavesdropping. "-Work on the project." Ivan finished, dismissing the Lieutenant with a wave. Firing back up, the Lieutenant and a few soldiers piled into the truck and drove off, puffing black smoke out of the exhaust pipe.

 _...Project?...in East Germany?_ You thought, narrowing your eyes at the snowy ground, trying to think of what he could've been hiding. It could have meant anything. It could have been that they were setting up bases, guards...maybe they were working on the East German borders, trying to keep Gilbert's people under their supervision and preventing further disruption. You had to admit, you didn't want to have another Hitler rise out of any of the Germanic countries or yours, but you didn't want Gilbert's people to suffer isolation and poverty under Soviet rule.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Heavy boots made their way over to you on the packed snow, you kept your head down, eyes half lidded with a mix of irritation and sleepiness. Clenching your jaw, Ivan's boots came into view, pausing right in front of you. He knelt down onto one knee to see you better since you were a little hunched over...and that Ivan was nearly six feet tall and you nearly had the height of a tall child, his head tilted to the side like he was inspecting you.

Something cold slowly brushed your jaw and then gripped it almost tenderly, trying to tip your head up. Failing to resist the grip, your apathetic, yet sleepy eyes met with Ivan's amethysts, he then turned your head from side to side then stopped. He chuckled after a few moments of the hateful silence you gave him. "Tired?" He asked, leering as he removed his hand from your jaw. You didn't answer the stupid question, it was obvious that he already saw the dark circles around your eyes.

His smile only widened and an eyebrow raised, he nodded. "Thought so..." He breathed. Your eyes widened as you followed his steady fingers, they were moving towards your chest. You stared back at him, not taking your eyes off of his.

Angry and tender, the slash on your chest was oozing and trickling a few beads of blood underneath your coat, a distressed rip was present across the coat's chest area. Ivan placed his fingers on one end of the incision, able to touch the cut through the rip. His gloved fingers were icy cold on the raw ridge of the angry slice. You clenched your jaw, his fingers ran across the sever, new drops of blood erupted from their fragile scabs.

It didn't hurt much since it was mostly numb from the intense cold, and you had felt far more worse things than this. This was nothing more than a pinch over what you have felt. But this mostly irritating. If your hands weren't cuffed and held back... Ivan sighed taking his fingers away from the cut, failing to make you wince or utter a single sound of pain. You watch him as he stands, studying the blood he runs his thumb over the fingers that were now covered in dark crimson at the tips. He then turns his head to Gilbert, who was hunched over weakly with the soldiers practically holding him up, blood trickling on his pale chin.

Turning on his heel, Ivan raised his hand. "Shall we?" He asked as the soldiers escorted you and Gilbert behind Ivan, their grip still strong. You and Gilbert were forcefully following Ivan who strolled across the street to a colossal, brick building with no windows.

However, there was a Soviet flag that flew over the entrance and a sign in Russian print. You grunted as you finished reading it, gritting your teeth slightly and furrowing your brows out of displeasure. "What's wrong, (y/n)?" You turned your head to Gilbert who was now escorted beside you, he was still without his sight. "What do you see?" He asked hoarsely, his head in your direction. You sighed before you answered him as you both entered.

"...Interrogation..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment and give me your opinions if you have any concerns. I am willing to answer ^w^


	3. A Child's Game

"Please sit." Ivan motioned to the steel interrogation table and the two wooden chairs in the middle of the room with his bloodstained glove. Your blood. As the heavy door slammed shut, the clank of the bolts alerting you that you were now locked in with Braginski.

The dark room was cold and small and the only source of light was a hanging light dangled from the ceiling, swaying from the busy feet directly above on the third floor. The walls were cinder block and extremely thick and strong. _God, this entire building is a bunker!_

 In the neighboring room, Gilbert was getting his interrogation and questioning time. Not knowing what exactly would happen to him, without Gilbert in your sight, your brain festered with worry. You didn't see Gilbert's interrogator follow him into the room he was subjected to, which only made you more anxious, praying that this questioning will be short and sweet. _He'll be okay...at least he can sit down again...he almost couldn't make it up the flight of stairs to the second floor on his own two feet..._ You thought, glancing at the towering Russian beside you with your apathetic glare.

...That smile of his was getting on your last nerve. He shot it at you while he was taking his hat off in the process, beige hair topping his head, his lengthy scarf pouring over his shoulders and down to his ankles. Your hands were no longer cuffed, but the braces left red marks on your wrists which you rubbed earlier until they were mostly soothed. _Mostly._ Strangely, it made you feel a lot better than you thought it would.

Hesitating at first, you silently walked over to one of the chairs, pulling it out and sitting down. Ivan pulled out his chair and sat down across the table from you, setting his hat onto the cold metal gently. A large file plopped down onto the table from his other hand. He flipped it open, picking up the first couple of documents, skimming over a few of the paragraphs with his now attentive eyes, raising an eyebrow every now and then.

The entire file was filled with documents, photos, and recorded history of you. All of your honors, skills, combat recordings both wins and losses, military gain, technologies, knowledge, and personal information involving your family. You saw this coming. They were going to investigate just how powerful and skilled you really were and what they had to be aware of with you in their captivity.

Though you had a few battles in the past with Ivan, all of which he lost, and he knew what to expect out of you, there was still so much more he didn't know about. You, on the other hand, knew about him as a country and what to expect out of him. But now, he was about to find out everything about you. What confused you overall, however, was that Ivan was the one who was going to be interrogating you and not some official. But he was the one who was overly obsessed with gaining information.  _This is going to be fun..._ You thought, sarcasm dawdled over the statement halfheartedly, brushing a few (h/c) strands of hair out of your face.

Relaxing slightly, you rested your foot on the opposite knee, leaning your upper body back against the uncomfortable chair, your signature sitting posture. Smiling mentally, you remembered the times that Ludwig scolded you for sitting in such an impolite and unladylike manor, though you never wore dresses or skirts. Call it a bad habit of yours, but you couldn't help it. Sometimes it would instinctively occur without you realizing it.

Roderich would furrow his brows in displeasure when he caught you sitting that way the times you were at his house, sitting in the pearl-white living room waiting for a piano lesson. Gilbert, however took great pleasure in watching Roderich tantrum over your habit, thus encouraging you to keep it up until Roderich's face turned as purple as his eyes from admonishing you in a higher pitched voice than usual. You smiled drowsily for a few seconds, relishing the memories before they were washed away by the rippling of paper.

Clink. With half lidded eyes, you lazily glanced to see that Ivan put a document down, lighting a cigarette off to the side. Once he had it ignited, putting the lighter and pack back into his pocket and puffing the first cloud of smoke out with a sigh, he turned back to the table, picking up on the document he was inspecting, holding the cigarette between two leather-coated fingers. _Huh...never knew he smoked..._ You thought, returning to your blank, torpid gaze, trying to recall the last time you had smoked. His smoking was something you would never forget.

Smoking was frowned upon in your family, mostly because Ludwig didn't want the house drenching and reeking of smoke and tobacco. Even standing outside of the house to smoke wasn't permitted by either of your brothers. But every once in a while, Gilbert or Ludwig would take you along with them to the pub in town to blow some smoke and later purchase a rich mug of beer. That was the only time you were allowed to smoke. You started not that long ago...maybe about a year ago, and you never really favored it, though it took away a bit of stress when you were trying to handle your mild depression from the protracted war.

It had been...seven months...no..nine months ago was the last time you smoked. It was at the pub just on the outskirts of Berlin. You went alone that time, neither of your brothers were free to accompany you, both of them dealing with arduous difficulties with the progressive Allies that were advancing from the east, west, and south. At the pub that day, you didn't take a single sip of the beer you had bought, you only smoked the single cigarette you had left. Cigarettes were even hard to come by in those two last months of the war in Europe. It was only until late April did you and your brothers meet up for the last stand...in which you lost. Biting your lip, you cut your mind from the memory, now wandering back to reality.

You counted, three minutes passed since he kindled his cigarette. He took another breath. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Four minutes....another breath....now five... You grunted angrily in your thoughts, wondering if he was reading slowly on purpose just to irritate you further. You began to glare at the ground beside you, setting your hand on the sole of your filthy boots, outlining the clumps of dried mud that plastered to the soles out of impatience. There was a chuckle. Slowly, you returned your eyes to the commie who had just finished inspecting the file, his cigarette halfway gone. Crossing your damaged arms carefully across your sliced chest, you faced him, ready for the questioning.

"Sorry for the wait, milaya." He flicked the excess ashes off the cigarette, returning it to his smiling mouth for his last, sooty breath, with you hoping he would choke on his own smoke for the name he called you. _Kitten..._ Shooting and holding a sharp, indignant glare at him, you spoke.

"Don't get cute with me, Braginski..." You grudgingly replied in a sharp, low tongue, vexation spiking up onto the tips of your ears. He smirked, pulling the finished cigarette away from his lips, blowing a straight stream of smoke in your direction, then extinguishing the fulfilled cigarette directly onto the table. You crinkled your toes, trying to conceal your bottled annoyance.

Laying out five documents, two photos, six combat rank recordings, and a personal knowledge document, Ivan flicked the cigarette butt out of his fingers and through the air, landing somewhere in the compact room. You didn't bother looking at the information. Taking up one of the documents, he held it in a gloved hand, reading off your relations with family members as he rested his arm on the table. "(Y/n) Beilschmidt. Sister of Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt. Cousin of Basch Zwingli, Lilli Zwingli, and Roderich Edelstein. Daughter of Germania, who of which has no known name."

He glanced over at you for a second before continuing, seeing that you kept your unblinking glare on him as he read. "20 years of human age appearance, but 65 years of country age." He put down the document, then recovering the second one, which was about your battles and military casualties. "No recorded losses of battle or war before the date September 7, 1945. All recorded wins of battle and war are at a high rank with low rates of casualties and deaths."

He ceased, lifting his violet orbs from the paper, smiling. "So, this is your first defeat?" He asked, laying the document down and sliding it out of the way, intertwining his fingers and resting them on the table as he leaned forward. The question definitely insulted you, but the upcoming answer was disappointingly true. This was your first defeat, but you took it well. You didn't believe that you were entirely relentless and titanium-made, but you were stronger than any other force in the world. Still keeping your intense stare at him, arms crossed, you answered. "...Yes." Satisfied with your answer, Ivan smirked and leaned back slightly, picking up another document.

Crusted and dried, the blood on his gloves was cracking off into dust and fluttering onto the table, pinches at a time. He began to read off the second document again, holding it in one hand and reposing his head in the other with his elbow propped up on the table.

"Awarded with the Iron Cross, Eastern Front Medal, Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross, and many more of your egoistic, fascist decorations, honors, and medals that I will choose not to mention." He said, a mix of anger and sarcasm lingered in his Russian tone, eyes now narrowing seriously, but his smile remaining sweet. Keeping your face as straight, colorless, and calm as it could be, you smirked slightly for a second, a light, abrupt chuckle jumped into your throat.

You stared at him, seeing how childish Ivan can be with his silly insults. Your mouth then returned to its natural, straight line, letting the discrediting words run off the sides of your brain like rain on a roof.

After staring at you with intense violet eyes for a moment or two, Ivan straightened the paper with a flick of his wrist, returning to the document. "You learned how to speak five different languages, nyet?" After a few silent seconds, you answered. "Yes..."

Ivan tore his eyes from the paper, raising an eyebrow, he tittered. "A lot of free time on your hands, huh?" All you gave him was a blank stare in response.

It was indeed true that you learned so many languages. You learned English, French, Swedish, Russian, and some Japanese. Often, Ludwig would encourage you to learn languages to become more knowledgeable and efficient with vocabulary and better at communicating and negotiating with other countries. At first, you thought it would be pointless and stupid since you never worked with any countries other than your family and the Axis, but you practiced the languages anyways to use up spare time.

Conveniently, when the second world war happened, you used your knowledge of the languages to your advantage and was able to translate stolen letters, radio excerpts, codes, and conversations and it was incredibly useful. That's why you were able to understand the chat between Volkov and Ivan.

He shook his head, giggling through his simper, his beige hair shimmering lightly with the dim, hanging light overhead. "What's the point of learning so many languages if you're not even going to speak?" Furrowing your brows, you responded to him lowly...in Russian.

"To eavesdrop I guess." Singed in hot flames, your ears flooded with anger, sharpening your eyes like blades. Ivan sighed after a few hushed moments, leaning back in his chair with his eyebrows slightly raised, he crossed his colossal arms across his broad chest. "So...you were listening to my discussion with my Lieutenant."

There was a strange tone that seasoned the words that strode from his lips. His eyes flickered a lighter violet as you descended your (e/c) eyes a little, now regretting that you admitted to eavesdropping on the talk among Volkov and Ivan. He got you to take the bait of his bluff. _Bad move, (y/n)...bad move..._

Looking back up at the Soviet nation, you noticed the way his eyes fixed on you, almost like a blank stare. _He's pondering... Shit!_   You thought, mentally slapping yourself, hard. Nervously thinking now, you sat still, really regretting the outburst that slipped out of you mouth.

There was a substantial number of things he could be thinking about now. He could be thinking about how he could shut you up from talking to Gilbert about the conversation since you haven't cracked it to him it yet, or he could try to hurt and intimidate the both of you if either of you try to rebel against his actions. He could try to take the two of you over with a snap of his fingers, but you were too robust to let any of that happen to you or Gilbert.

Your heart was tingling and coiling and uncoiling, impatience was clogging your brain, storming up worries and nervousness. The outside of you remained tranquil, but you kept your eyes in a sharpened shape, angrily knifing them at Ivan. Sighing again, he spoke.

"What am I going to do with you?" That sadistic smile was beaming at you as he stood, his chair shrieked as he pushed it out from behind him. You dropped your gaze to the table and the documents that were sprawled out on top of it.

You perceived Ivan's boots circle around the table once and then lean up against the wall beside you. A sudden heaviness was weighted upon your shoulders...Ivan's eyes were still fixed on you like a collar and leash. Clink...flick. He was lighting another cigarette and after a few seconds, smoke began to filter the room again. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier from tiredness and the cigarette smoke was not helping at the slightest.

Finally, unlatching your jaw after finding the right words, you spoke. "...What is to become of my brother?" You wanted to know what was going to happen your brother. And asking Ivan now was a warning towards him that if he didn't answer or lied, you would find out one way or another. Easy or hard. He exhaled his smokey breath in a steady breath and then inhaled pure and cold air.

"Well, since you already have a broad idea of what my plan is, I'll have to tell you. I'm building a wall between East and West Germany." He replied in a blank voice, no sarcasm or innocence could be caught from his tone. _...He's being serious._ Widening your eyes, your stomach tightened, a knot as hard as rock now formed in it. His cheery tone returned as he continued. "But don't worry...I'll keep you and your brother together."

 _Liar._ Snapping your head towards him and standing up hastily making your chair screech, you glared at him intimidatingly, facing him. Of course he smirked at you... "You're getting on my last fucking nerve, Ruski." You snapped at him in a low growl, your chest was stinging again, hot and angry beads of blood trickled down from your chest to your stomach. You continued.

"...Lying to me isn't a good move to try on me either...especially when my family is involved." Ivan flicked the ashes off of his cigarette, a now irritated and slightly raged smirk danced onto his lips. Finally, he was getting angry.

"It is impolite to call your owner such a thing, milaya." He took another breath of smoke and puffed it out heavily. "It might get you hurt..." His voice was low now and his accent was heavier. _He's getting pissed._

"Owner? You think you actually  _own_ me?" You mocked coldly, testing Ivan to see if he would lose his sadistically happy attitude and replace it with something more bendable. And it worked.

Pushing himself off the thick wall, he dropped his cigarette onto the cold, cement floor, extinguishing the butt with his heavy boot. His irritated smirk was now demolished and replaced with a blood-curdling smile, his brows furrowed angrily. _Gotchya..._ He took a grudging step forward.

"Well, that was the agreement that the Allies made, wasn't it? That you come along with me and do as I tell you?" Ivan said, cocking his head at you. "I hope you haven't forgotten already, but you _lost_ the war to _me_."

"What did you win? A participation trophy?" You snapped in a low tone, gritting your teeth.

"It's not appropriate to talk back either..." There was a long, uneasy silence between the two of you as your glares continued to beam at each other, neither of you were smirking nor smiling. Ivan broke the silence with a low threat, he began to smile again.

"You should be more than careful with your words, (y/n). You must learn how to talk to me, because I could always separate the two of you and cut him off from the rest of the world. I have that kind of power. And you wouldn't be able to save him from me then... Think of what I'd do to him... Crying and screaming for his younger siblings for help like a little, pathetic bitch. And you and Ludwig can pick up what's left of him when you are reunit-"

A swift, hard uppercut launched itself under Ivan's strong jaw, your fist tight and furiously stronger than steel. Punt! His head was now facing the ceiling, blood flying up and spraying onto the grey stone. He stumbled back, dropping his face to the floor, now hunched over. Blood dripped from his chin, crimson dots splashed onto the floor. That was it. You snapped. The blow was so quick, so stealthy, Ivan didn't see it coming. He looked up at you, his violet eyes now dark and hair almost covering his vision, his lip treading blood and saliva.

Barely gritting your teeth through the curtain of your (h/c) hair and furrowing your brows like an angry wolf, you straightened out from the stance you had taken. With your fists still clenched and twitching, you spoke to him in Russian. "...Threaten to separate me from my brother once more and I will be sure to make Russia more red than it already is..."

 

 

 

 

Ivan stepped out of the interrogation room to grab a well needed drink, adjusting the Soviet hat on his head with one hand and carrying the file in the other, holding it at his side. The blood on his bottom lip and chin was wiped off and gone hours ago, but a nasty bruise lingered on his jaw and lip which were both turning a raging mixture of purple, blue, and red.

Slamming the heavy door with a loud bang and allowing the guards to lock it, Ivan was approached by a familiar face. Lieutenant Volkov. He was assisted by two Red Army soldiers that marched behind him, both of them were armed. " _Great..._ " Ivan mentally muttered, not wanting Volkov to see the new embarrassing and irritating shiner that was blossoming on Ivan's lower face...a little gift from you. Volkov stopped and saluted abruptly, concern and curiosity crept onto his face, but it was quickly washed away by a smirk.

"I see the interrogation and negotiation didn't go as planned, huh Braginski?" Volkov said in a snarky tone, his icy eyes toyed with Ivan's darkened orbs. Ivan growled at the annoying remark, too tired and exhausted to shout at Volkov after the hours he had spent trying to make you hand yourself, your government, and people completely over to him. You wouldn't budge and your persistence was irritating him in every way.

Tearing his glare away from Volkov, Ivan glanced at the window down the hall. It was late afternoon now, the air was getting colder as the sun was beginning to sink over the horizon, turning the sky different shades of pink and purple. Snow was continuing to fall to the ground and fog up the glass panes. Ivan turned on his heel and stormed down the hallway with heavy, angry boots, his scarf flowing behind him, shouting his orders to Volkov in the process.

"Take Gilbert Beilschmidt to my home and have my servants prepare for his arrival, I have some unfinished business to discuss with (y/n) Beilschmidt!" Ivan paused as he reached the stairs glancing over his shoulder at his lieutenant, his eyes shaded and menacing under the brim of his hat and beige hair. "Tomorrow morning, you are to carry out my operation in East Germany. I don't care how much your men complain. I want that wall built...and if anyone...even a woman or a child from the East side dare as to go near it...don't hesitate to shoot them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my french toast, guys. Thank you sooo much for over 100 hits! I really appreciate it! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!


	4. Just the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be fixed on Gilbert. The next chapter is going to be fixed on you again, but both of the chapters are going to be taken place at the same time. Gilbert is heading and arriving at Russia's home while you are still being intimidated. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this chapter. I had sooo much testing this week. Thank you guys again for the hits, kudos, and comments!

Running his pale, bony fingers through his blood-crusted, snowy hair, Gilbert sighed, wheezing on the small inhale he took back in through his sore lungs. His other hand was kept clasped on his side and coated with dried blood, the gash was finally healing, but it still begged and itched for the medical attention it so desperately needed. His head was laying on the table, it felt like ice against his temple, unpleasant, loathsome, and cruel. He was getting sleepy again from the table's sweet, but bitter cold hand...but he had to stay awake...get too comfortable, get too cold...and you won't wake up.

Gilbert picked his head up from the metal table, rubbing his shoulders from the dry, freezing air. He knew that if he tried to sleep now, he wouldn't wake up from the hypnotic dream...death. Still blind with bandaged eyes, Gilbert honed in on the ticking of the clock in the room....it was to the left...no the right of the room. He knew it had been hours since he was subjected to the interrogation room. He counted the endless seconds that ticked ever since he sat down in the creaking, wooden chair that was cracking off splinters every time he moved.

Gilbert couldn't even stand up to stretch out and loosen himself up after sitting for so long...that and he was getting weaker by the hour. _Damn...never thought the Commie could make me this weak...but...I'm still breathing, aren't I, Braginski? I still win anyways like I always have..._

The interrogation was incredibly boring and slow-moving for Gilbert. He could tell that the interrogator was a Russian shrimp who never saw battle and probably never lost his virginity just by listening to his high-pitched, Slavic voice. But the interrogator wasn't Gilbert's biggest yawn, it was the ongoing and irritating questions that bored him to death, which thankfully ended not that long ago. Most of his questions were annoyingly simple, any kindergartner was smart enough to answer them. 'Is (y/n) Beilschmidt your sister? Is Ludwig Beilschmidt your brother? How old are you? What is your affliction to the 2nd world war? Why did you join the Axis? What are your honors, ranks, and skills? Blah, blah, blah.' Gilbert sighed, the tips of his ears growing hot with irritation.

 _What stupid questions. Shouldn't they have already obtained that information when the other Allies handed me and my sister to the damn Ruski? They already know all of this shit! It's like no one knows who I am anymore!_ He shouted into the void of his head with his Germanic tongue, furious about the simple questions that almost had no point in answering. Gilbert sighed, hoping that you were okay and getting better treatment wherever you were. He didn't know where you were since he was still without sight. All he knew was that you were in the same building, being questioned just like him...hopefully thinking it wasn't by that bastard, Braginski.

Tsking as he angrily smirked, Gilbert pondered to make time speed up and cool off, he was getting anxious. He began to think about Ludwig and what he might be doing a the moment. He was most likely hating himself...punching and breaking fragile, glass items in his house, muttering that all of this was his fault....it was probable. Gilbert chuckled at the thought of Ludwig secretly sneaking into Moscow in a disguise, pretending to be Russian, breaking into the interrogation building, and saving him and (y/n) and taking the two of you back to Berlin...but that was very unlikely. Ludwig was probably pacing back and forth in his paper-cluttered room and nearly causing the floor to erode from his muddy boots, hoping and praying that we were okay and still alive...maybe storming up a plan on how to get him and (y/n).

He was probably still in his filthy, olive-green uniform and was too disturbed to take a hot shower, repatch his blossoming wounds, and get some rest when he got home. Gilbert didn't blame him...he would be doing the exact same thing, and if not more, if it were you and Ludwig who were taken by Ivan, thinking, praying, and hoping that you both were okay...he would kill anyone in his path to Moscow, no matter the weather or conditions, even if Ivan had billions of Red Army soldiers that were sick in the head and armed to the teeth...he would take you both back home, safe and sound.

Gilbert's stomach growled, he clutched it slowly with his free hand. Hunger washing up into his gut as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten. The last thing he had to eat was a food ration which was given to him by you before you were brought outside from the small room in Berlin...that was nearly two days ago. It was a soldier's ration, bland, bitter, and almost tasteless...and the last one you had and you gave it to him. " 'I'm not hungry' she said..." Gilbert mumbled softly after his stomach growled a second time, begging for a gigantic plate of cheese-coated wurst, a roll of bread, and a glass of foamy beer... He mentally slapped himself for thinking about food, knowing that it'll only worsen his hunger.

"Like hell, you're not hungry, (y/n)..." Gilbert said weakly, the hunger becoming worse for him. You hadn't eaten in 5 days, two days before the last day of the 2nd world war, before he was officially dissolved. Gilbert knew the sentence had to have struck a nerve with you. Ludwig even raised his voice to a holler when you refused to eat your insipid ration of bread, a potato, and cheese. But you paused and sighed, and simply said you weren't hungry and, without another word, handed your food to Gilbert. He knew you gave him the food out of need, he was practically a walking corpse, starving and malnourished. You knew he would have died without it. Countries could go days without food and water, though it would cause problems in their nation with people, government, and their economy...but he couldn't. He was almost human now, because he was no longer a country. Just a territory.

Gilbert jolted his head up a little as he heard a faint banging, raising an eyebrow weakly. Bang Bang...Bang...! Silence. It came from the wall. The right wall. Gilbert turned his head to the right, though he couldn't see. _Probably nothing._ Gilbert thought, returning his blind gaze back to the table, thinking it was a prisoner getting a fowl beating for not answering a question during his or her interrogation. Bang Bang...! Gilbert snapped his head back to the wall, he was heavily alert now, though he was horrifyingly weak and languid. He listened closely and intently, expecting and waiting for the banging again and maybe some screaming. Bang Bang Bang... Bang! No screaming, no shouting, no yelling, just banging...strange.

Bang Bang Bang... Bang! The last banging rhythm repeated the one before that. This wasn't sloppy banging, it was solid, timed, and strange. Gilbert waited, listening for the bizarre pounding against the wall again. 30 seconds passed. Nothing. The banging stopped. Silence poured into the dark room again. _What in God's name was that?_ Gilbert thought, furrowing his brows slightly, wincing when he furrowed them too hard, causing the cuts around his eyes to open and dribble blood into the clotted bandages.

 _Could that have been (y/n)...no...I have no idea were she is with these pathetic eyes..._ Gilbert continued in his thoughts, realizing that it wasn't his eyesight that kept him from knowing where you were. Even if he could see with his healed vision, he wouldn't know where you were. Gilbert nearly jumped out of his thin skin as he heard tumbling thunder of the bolted door unlatch. Squeaking, the heavy door swung open, heavy boots stormed in the room, Gilbert couldn't tell how many soldiers entered the compact room. Everything was so disorienting to him. Two aggressive hands gripped his bruised arms, their thumbs pressing into his biceps as they pulled him out of the chair, making it screech, and elevating him to his wobbly feet.

Gilbert clenched his jaw and gritted his bloodied teeth as the rough hands forced his hands behind his back, yanking them too far, his muscles feeling like they were going to snap. Something cold and metal clamped around his skinny wrists and then there was a dull click. _Cuffs...of course._ After a few seconds, a pair of heavy boots started trudging away from him, becoming slightly faint, possibly a soldier or officer walking out of the room. Then, Gilbert was harshly shoved and escorted out of the room on his unsteady feet, following the heavy boots that echoed a few feet ahead of him. He grunted quietly, the soldiers' grip became very firm on his wrists and arms.

Suddenly, Gilbert became very alarmed. He still didn't know where you were or if you were being escorted with him. "Where is my sister...?" Gilbert asked in a hoarse voice, his throat dry from dehydration. No answer. Of course they wouldn't answer him... Either they couldn't understand his language or they were choosing not to answer him. Gilbert's heart started to race like a thoroughbred, his forehead working up a light sweat as they continued their silent escort down the hallway, down the winding staircase, and onto the ground floor. _Where the hell is she? If she was being escorted with me, wouldn't she have answered me like she did when we were being taken into this building? Somethings wrong..._ Gilbert wondered, becoming panicked as he heard a heavy door creak open and felt a blast of icy wind hurtle at him. He was practically being dragged by the soldiers like a broken puppet, his feet barely moving as the freezing air engulfed him in a splintering hug. He was outside now, cars were honking, boots were marching and thundering in the distance and around him, winds whirling without mercy.

"Where is my sister?" Gilbert asked again after thirty seconds of walking, a bit louder, hoping someone...maybe you could hear him. He was answered this time... Gilbert immediately received a strong, fowl slap to his cheek, his head snapped to the side from the powerful strike, the soldiers held him tighter. A new bruise would be present on his cheek in a couple of minutes. He tasted blood on his tongue again, the scars on his eyes ripped open, blood streaming out from under his bandages and down his face like tears. Grunting, he turned his face back to where it was before the nasty smack, he gritted his teeth as his face burned and ached from the new and old pain.

"Shut up, Nazi!" A familiar voice scowled, a Russian accent attended the tone. It definitely wasn't Ivan, this person's voice was much deeper and it almost sounded like a dog's grunt and bark, no sympathy or cheeriness. Gilbert guessed it was the lieutenant who kicked him cruelly out of the truck he was transported to Moscow in and the same lieutenant Ivan was talking with. _What was his name again...Volkig...Volkov... Fuck it... Why should I care what the hell his name is.... He and Ivan still have her somewhere..._ Gilbert thought, hatred sticking into his brain like hot, acidic needles, he spat the salty, saline blood from his mouth as a few red beads trickled down his chin and throat. _Why aren't they telling me where she is?...Damn, commie bastards..._

With a harsh shove, they started walking again. Gilbert could feel his boots gradually getting damp and cold, and his walking was becoming more and more of a trudge. Snow and about a foot of it. He knew he had been in interrogation for a long time, the snow had gotten much higher than in the morning. _God, it's cold._ He thought as he shivered, the bottoms of his pant legs soaking with melting snow. His hair began to get wet, detecting fragile snowflakes falling and powdering onto his silver and red stained hair like sprinkles on a cake. His ears were burning and stinging as they began to decrease in blood flow, causing Gilbert more discomfort.

They came to an abrupt halt, Gilbert's ears could pick up the hum of a ready vehicle, he could smell the smokey stench of the gas that puffed out of the exhaust pipe. _Fuck! Where is she!? Where am I going?! Is she coming with me?!_ Gilbert thought, panicked and agitated.

He rubbed his thumb against his index finger nervously as he was roughly hoisted up onto the vehicle by the two soldiers who were escorting him. Someone in front of him shoved him rowdily onto the bench of the vehicle, he coughed as the wind was temporarily knocked out of him, landing hard on the bench. Suddenly, he was forced to hunch over, his hands were pulled back as another pair of hands pushed his torso downward at a painful angle. Gilbert grunted angrily, they were making this as painful as possible for him. They were tying him to the steel bars of the vehicle. The rope was tight. A little too tight.

When they were finished, Gilbert felt them take their iron grip off of him, letting him move into a sitting position, but he was still slightly hunched over. He could hear someone sit next to him and a few other boots climbing into the vehicle and sit on the opposite side, a firm, stiff hand placed itself onto his arm, its thumb digging into what was left of his flesh like pliers, holding him in place. Though he was out of the bitter snow, Gilbert continued to shiver from the depraved cold, his nose began to run. There were a few shouts coming from the soldiers inside and outside of the vehicle, Gilbert couldn't understand them, which only made his dread worsen. With a sudden lurch, the truck drove forward. Gilbert could feel himself frown in depression and perturbation, a few salty tears rolled out from under his bandaged eyes. _...God...wherever (y/n) is...I pray that she'll be okay..._

 

 

 

Beep! Beeeeep! The truck honked noisily after it hit the brakes suddenly, causing Gilbert to wake up from his uncomfortable, dreamless void of sleep. Drowsily, he straightened his slouching figure out weakly. He winced, everything hurt, he was sore and coiled in torment from head to toe. The irritating gash on his side was burning like an uncontrolled wildfire, his eyes stung and wept a mixture of tears and blood. Both of them must have been infected by now... The crown of his head ached from the harsh thracking of the truck's walls against the back of his head from this morning. Groaning, he could feel his stomach shoveling and knifing into his intestines, heart, and lungs, causing him an unholy amount of pain. It felt like he had eaten a hundred sharpened knives, whole and in one sitting.

He felt someone untie him from the steel bar of the truck and lift him to his feet by his arm, roughly. The nasty hand then threw him out of the truck's back entrance, carelessly and sadistically. Gilbert landed onto the ice-coated, cobblestone pavement flat on his stomach, the gash on his side heavily bleeding like he had just received it. He let out an abrupt, yet quiet shout, too drained to prolong his distress. _...Where...the hell...am I...?_ Gilbert thought weakly, his lip quivering from the increasing pain. Wheezing heavily, a powerful, bulky boot kicked him in the stomach, hard. Gilbert coughed and whimpered, taking in a sharp inhale of freezing air. Curling up into a crumpled ball, he began to puke more and more blood, the wound on his side gushing red every time he heaved to throw up his sickening crimson.

Shouting again weakly, he felt another sharp kick hammer into his stomach, he winced and twitched, tightening into a ball of misery. Coughing, he choked on his never ending bloody puke, causing him to swallow almost half of it. "Get up!" The attacker shouted at him. It was Volkov. _That sadist..._ He was almost as bad as Ivan.

Gilbert coughed up more blood as he tried to stand up...only to stumble back down into the bloody mess he created on the snowy pavement, elbows, arms, legs, hands, all shaking from fear and weakness. _Come on...Get up you idiot!_ Gilbert shouted internally, threatening himself to stand up before the next horrifying strike could hammer into his stomach again.

He could feel his wound ripping and tearing further down his side like brittle paper. "Get up, Nazi!" Volkov shouted lowly as Gilbert detected his boot lifting up off the ground, he was going to kick him again. Squeezing his eyes and shielding his face and stomach with his bony arms, Gilbert readied his delicate and damaged body for impact....but there was a sudden, but soothing outburst.

"Leytenant Volkov! Stop! Ser ,chto dostatochno!" Gilbert couldn't understand the shout, but the voice that paused the excruciating battering was angry, yet serene. However, it definitely wasn't you. This was a man's voice. Was it a soldier, a citizen, another prisoner who was taken with him? Gilbert uncoiled a little, but remained somewhat alert and guarded with his arms crossed over his injuries. His side was blazing with pain, the cold weather pricking the profane lesion, his stomach blistering with hunger and a new throbbing welt. He winced as he heard Volkig chuckle under his breath, the lieutenant was no longer turned in his direction.

"Good evening Mister Rolinitis." Volkig said loudly, Gilbert could picture his face painted with a proud smirk. _Rolinitis...,_ Gilbert thought, repeating the last name several times until he realized who it was, _...Toris?_ A pair of light, delicate footsteps made their way over to him.

"Oh my god..." Toris whispered gravely, he must have seen how badly inflicted the damage was. Angrily, Gilbert thought about how pathetic he looked...bawled up on the snowy pavement like shattered glass, bleeding and bruised. He guessed he didn't even look human anymore...well...more like what's left of one. Gilbert tried to stand up on his rubbery, wobbly legs, he felt a pair of warm hands gently help pull him up by his forearm, he winced at the surprising touch. It was Toris. Gilbert relaxed a little, thankful that someone was there to support him up off the bitter, cold ground. He was hunched over greatly, blood trickling from his red-clotted clothes, which were almost turning into leather with the surplus amount of blood. He continued to shiver, pain skyrocketing through his core, he beginning to get dizzy.

Toris then tugged Gilbert's arm over his shoulders, supporting all of Gilbert's weight on him. Hanging his head like a dead, hung man, Gilbert felt himself about to pass out from the cold and blood loss. He was so tired and drained, all he wanted to do was sleep and wake up back home with you and Ludwig...but no...that was too easy. Toris continued to talk to Volkov in Russian, angrily, but collectively, like he was afraid that he would get slapped across the jaw by the sadistic lieutenant. Gilbert chuckled on the inside. _You always were a coward, Toris...still pussyfooting around in this frozen hell._ He thought, shaking his head lightly as the short conversation ended.

Gilbert heard Volkov turn on his heal and make his way back to the truck. Gilbert's aching stomach flipped in terror...he still didn't know where the hell you were. "W-wait..." He coughed, blood rolling out of the sides of his mouth. Volkov's boots stopped. "Where...is my sister, goddammit?!" He choked out loud enough for Volkov to hear, his voice hoarse.

There was a prolonged pause, and then a distant chuckle. Volkov, in perfect German, answered him in a disgustingly cruel way. "She'll be spending a little time away from you. It would be an inconvenience for her to bother you while you heal. But don't worry. Mr. Braginski has plans for her." And just like that, Gilbert heard him pile into the passenger seat of the truck, slam the door with a loud bang, and take off.

Gilbert stood there, half hunched over, unable to feel any other emotion than dread. He realized the dishonorable lie the Allies had fed him. He was separated from you without warning or awareness by Ivan. With a knot in his throat, tears silently streamed down his face, his lower lips slightly quivering. Words couldn't describe how he felt at that moment. Lost? Afraid? Worried? Angry? Defeated?

He almost couldn't move his legs out of place when Toris pulled him in the opposite direction. "Come on Gilbert...Let me get you inside..." Toris spoke out, turning and escorting Gilbert slowly, a door opened. Probably a front door. He must have been dropped off at Ivan's house for the time being. As Gilbert staggered with Toris helping him to the house, Gilbert felt a cold knife of distress wedge into his heart and mind, scraping at the sides of his skull.

"How long...will it be...until I see her...again?" He coughed out to Toris, his voice sounding more weak and hoarse than before, he was wheezing. Gilbert's heart only decreased as Toris let out a small sigh and answered him quietly. "I don't know, Gilbert..."


	5. Planning and Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this week was really busy for me and I wasn't able to make the chapter as long as I wanted it to be .-. But oh well. Thank you guys for the kudos, comments, and hits! The next chapter will be out next Sunday. Enjoy!

Finally, after hours of nerve-racking questions and interrogation, Ivan exited the small, compact room, slamming the door with controlled anger. Though he left with his usual, radiant and slightly annoyed smile, his body language showed nothing but frustration, irritation, and anger. The bruise that was blooming horrifically on his lip and jaw was majorly the cause of his displeasure. It would definitely be there for a good four weeks for all to see. Nobody would ignore it, but no one would dare question it. Your persistence and indefatigable resistance against his negotiation was irritating him in every possible way, but you could sense that most of his mind was trying to be patient.

You had heard stories that he had been able to control and take over a country in just a few minutes of a 'negotiation.' But you were taking a while to crack, he's had to deal with this before, but he hadn't even dented you and it's never taken him this long to at least fracture your mind. It was almost like you ricochet every mental bullet he fired, unable to penetrate your unbreakable mind, soul, and tough spirit. However, he could tell that you were angry as well underneath your indifferent mask. He was able to push your buttons and get a response out of your apathetic mood. You did give him a nasty bruise for threatening your brother's well being after all.

The heavy door's bolts tumbled like thunder, locking you in like a vault full of expensive, precious, and prized diamonds, no way in, no way out. You were alone. _Finally alone._ You thought, repeating your personal mission in your head. _Wait for Ivan to leave. Get up and go to the wall. Give Gilbert the message through the code. W A L L._

Knowing that Ivan couldn't be trusted at all, you had to communicate with Gilbert somehow before it was too late. There was no doubt that Ivan was not going to keep you and your brother together, or give you the chance to warn Gilbert about the wall that Ivan was going to build in East Germany. Why else would he still keep you both in separate rooms?

You knew that a wall wouldn't do much to keep Gilbert under Soviet order...hell...Gilbert was tough as nails and resistant to the commie since the beginning of his time, using his testy, cheeky, and harsh attitude towards the icy Russian. But Gilbert was in such a critical and disgusting condition, just a few communist laws and physical abuse could kill him.

He could still be in his room or taken somewhere else...but there was a fifty fifty percent chance that he was in the same state you were in, which was completely alone. Your only option of communication with Gilbert was Morse code. Unfortunately, the cinder block walls were far too thick to speak or shout through. But with just enough energy and strength, you could cause vibrations or banging to erupt out of the wall, hopefully loud enough for Gilbert to hear or make out. You and your brothers all learned morse code as soon as it was invented, using the code to give orders to troops in secret.

Luckily, not a lot of countries learned or heard of morse code to understand the strange patterns of dots and lines and mechanical clicking. However, there was a rather large problem in your clever procedure. Using the code with a series of banging was entirely made up by you, though clicking in morse code was widely known since the 1880s. But it's now or never for you and it was worth a shot. You had to crack the news to Gilbert and pray that he could at least get an idea of what the banging might be.

Jumping out of the uncomfortable chair hurriedly, you rushed to the wall. The right wall. The wall that separated you and Gilbert from your interrogation cells. You had a plan and you had to work quickly. Ivan could come back again soon and this was your only chance to communicate to Gilbert. Thankfully, there were no cameras in the room to watch you as you carried out your plan. Raising a tight, ready fist, you pounded it against the wall in the pattern of the first letter. Bang Bang...Bang...! W. It was just right. There was no way Gilbert couldn't hear that if he was still in his room. You lulled with your fist resting on the wall, allowing there to be a pause between each letter without any confusion.

 _Please hear me, Gilbert._  You mumbled softly, concern and worry furrowing onto your brows as you raised your fist, preparing the next few knocks. Bang Bang...! A. _Two more._ After waiting ten seconds, you continued. Bang Bang Bang... Bang! L. _Last one._ Pausing once more, you finished the code. Bang Bang Bang... Bang! L. You completed the code. Gritting your teeth slightly, you released your fist's tight coil, red nail impressions pressured into the palms of your hands from the clenched fist.

Taking a few steps away from the wall, you listened, hard enough to make your ears pick up the natural ring and the blood pulsing in your veins. Thirty seconds passed, no reply. Pure silence. "...Of course..." You mumbled angrily, turning and slamming an enraged, overhand fist on the metal table, causing it to rumble briefly and echo its thunder off the walls of the room. Your hair curtained your face, negativity dashed through your brain, spreading like a hateful fire. It was most likely that Ivan ordered Gilbert to be taken to another room or transported to God knows where. More detrimental thoughts piled into your mind.

 _...Of course Ivan stripped him from me. All because I had to admit to eavesdropping. He could have ordered his soldiers to torture and beat Gilbert like a dog at this very moment...probably payback for the little 'gift' I gave him..._ Trying to calm yourself down, you thought of positive possibilities and explanations of why he didn't answer. He could have been tied down in some sort of way. That and he could have been too weak to get up and bang on the wall. It took a lot of force to make the code reach the other side of the wall, enough strength to produce sound. And with the condition of Gilbert's arms and overall body strength, there was no way he would be able to generate a single knock through the thick wall.

But both of the negative and positive thoughts continued to set off your worry and uneasiness, festering and unfurling like wicked, infectious, thorny vines in the pit of your mind. Without Gilbert in your sights or senses, you were the definition of hell on legs, uncontrollable and sanguinary.

Taking a deep, calm breath, you slumped back down in the chair, returning to your signature sitting posture, one foot resting on the opposite knee like a bench. You began to think again, placing your elbow on the top rail of the chair, an effort to relax yourself. Breathing at a slow pace, you felt sleepier and drowsier than before, most likely from the end of the war, the Soviet take-over, lack of sleep, and using your energy on the code. But it was mostly because of the dearth of rest and now the strong stress that smoldered your mind because of the absence of Gilbert.

You imagined sleep deprived and darkened markings on the sockets and bags around your eyes, irritated and red veins popping up in the whites of your eyes. It had been so long since you had slept. It would be so easy to fall asleep right then and there, diving into the sweet and promising abyss of sleep. But you dared not to. Countries were able to stay awake for days, even weeks at a time. You had once stayed awake for four and a half weeks straight on a mission in the Eastern front, being on watch in the cold, dead of night and in light of day for your entire squad like a hawk, scouring the paths for traps and enemy Ally fighters as you made your way to Stalingrad.

Luckily, lack of sleep doesn't effect your sanity, weight, or health drastically, but you had to admit, you were an insomniac. Ludwig and Gilbert were bothered by it at first, but after a few years, they didn't mind you getting up in the middle of the night to take a walk with the dogs or toil with unfinished paperwork.

Taking your foot off of your knee, you leaned forward, crisscrossing your arms on the cold table. You rested your chin on top of your intersecting arms, your vision becoming fuzzier and blurrier by the second. The deep, angry slash on your chest was healing greatly, but it was still aching with the steady rise and fall of your chest, causing more exhaustion and discomfort for your body and brain. The dried blood that streaked down your chest and stomach was crusting and flaking off with every movement. Sleep was starting to invade your mind like a sinfully sweet lullaby.

Sighing, you lay your head on its side, giving into the annoying but pleasant sleep. _It doesn't seem like he'll be coming back for a while. Perhaps I should sleep...for just a little bit._ You thought to yourself as the deep darkness fluttered over your tired eyes, filtering gloom into your jaded mind. _God...I pray that Gilbert's okay..._

 

 

 

Ivan squeezed his blurry eyes shut, an attempt to ignore the stinging pain of his fourth helping of vodka as it touched his busted lips. The alcohol seared into the slow-bleeding cut, burning and torturing the sensitive flesh. Grunting, Ivan let the vodka slip past his lips and splash onto his tongue, savoring its watery and warm flavor as it danced on his taste buds and then draining down his throat. Finally, he felt everything around him become more and more buoyant and cheery...though it didn't alter what his mind was eating away at. Placing the empty glass down, his gloved index finger traced over the rim of the glass slowly in a state of thinking, his violet eyes in a trance of ponder.

The dimly lit bar was full of Red Army soldiers and lieutenants, old and young, most of which were roaring with laughter and singing traditional, Russian folk songs of triumph in slurred voices, continuing their fifth day of celebration after the Allied victory against the Axis Powers. However, Ivan was not going to celebrate his victory just yet, though the Allied victory was a huge win for him.

It was twelve fifteen am, six and a half hours since he left your interrogation room to grab a few drinks. The wide windows poured in the orange street lights that bounced off the white snow. The sky was pitch black and sparkling the tiny, starry bodies in which it carried. The snow storm clouds were gone and the snow had stopped. He still had to make you pledge loyalty and hand yourself fully over to him, which was going to be a difficult task for him to fulfill.

He didn't want to use blunt, physical force just yet. He wanted to mentally break you down first, weaken your sanity and mental stability before laying a hand and making a move on you and you as a country. He knew that inflicting physical pain and suffrage wouldn't even shatter a single pane of glass on you. He knew that he would possibly get himself hurt if he tried to slap you around. After reading all of the documents and records, he had to ponder and come up with a different approach on how to crack you. He had many battles with you in the past ever since he took over the Baltic countries and attempted to take control of the Baltic Sea, an effort to enter and defeat you, Prussia, and Germany and gain the Soviet land he had lost. He had heard news that you were with a squad of five (country name) specialists and making their way to Stalingrad to gain access to the oil rich countries in the south east.

Fortunately for him, Berlin was already being invaded by the Allies, which caused you to surrender. But Stalingrad was damaged by you and your squad horrendously, thousands of people died at your hands and nearly a hundred buildings were demolished by bazooka fire and machine guns. He could remember the streets that were littered with bodies, bodies with missing limbs and heads with burn marks charring and singing the flesh. Blood painted and splattered the walls of the crackling buildings, pooling the streets in their thick, glossy, red puddles. The smell that filled his nostrils was wretched and sickening, so sickening that he could almost taste its metallic and salty flavor swirl and cascade over his tongue, but he was used to it. He never got tired of the strong smell of blood. It was always there.

 _Well...this is going to be a little harder than I thought... But it will only be a matter of time until she falls._  Ivan thought as his smirk stretch onto his mouth, chuckling as he reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. _Toris was the same way when I had custody over Lithuania to make it a part of my union, only taking me three days to fully control him. I can see under that unmoved mask of hers. The little Nazi will give in soon. Besides, all good things come to those who are patient._

 Finding the lighter and pack, he took them out and immediately took a cigarette out and placed it between his lips, careful not to cause further pain on the cut. Balancing the cigarette on his lips, he put the pack back into his pocket. Flicking the lighter, he brought it's flame up to the cigarette. Once he had it ignited, he placed the lighter back into his pocket. He inhaled the smoke deeply, then taking the cigarette out of his mouth with two gloved fingers, exhaled in a steady, grey, narrow stream. His violet eyes were heavy lidded from the nauseatingly long day and the vodka was starting to take effect on his exhausted brain, making his vision slightly vivid and blurry. Rubbing his beige hair, he took another breath from his cigarette and exhaled. He coughed as it streamed out of him. "Stressed, Braginski?"

Ivan glanced up from his blurry gaze to the deep, satire voice that broke him from his blank stare. Glaring with a forced, tired smile, Ivan looked over at Volkov who was waltzing over to the front bar from which Ivan sat, his heavy boots booming against the wooden floor. Volkov was a tall and dangerous. In fact, extremely dangerous, and strong-built man of thirty eight. His eyes were of a silvery cobalt shade, almost resembling ice on metal. His hair was a sandy shade, but his buzz cut kept his hair color unknown because of how short it was. He had a diamond shaped head, a strong jaw line, and bold cheek bones that made his cheeks look sunken in. Volkov enlisted in the Red Army in 1929, he was only nineteen but the army would take just about anyone at that time.

No one questioned why he joined, but from the looks of it, Ivan saw a blood thirsty, young man who wanted power, crimson on his teeth, a gun in his hand, and loyalty to the USSR. Ivan called him the 'perfect soldier' of the Soviet Union. He wore a regular Soviet lieutenant uniform with the usual hat, but the uniform's shoulder bore four, one inch, red lines. All of which stood for the personal number of (country name) specialists he had eliminated in the war, which was a nearly impossible victory for anyone to achieve.

However, they weren't the specialists that you traveled to Stalingrad with. They all were in different sectors of the Eastern Front and all had their separate duties to protect tanks, guide Nazi soldiers, and deliver the Nazi threat towards the rest of Russia with their cunning combat skills and lethal training. But they were the unfortunate ones that came across Volkov's clever, ploy, and inhumane traps. The traps consisted of pressure plates that were not detectable by magnets or sight. One careless foot out of place and the victim would not be able to walk from the minor explosion that shot up his leg, shattering the bone in less than a second. The traps were not meant to kill, but wound the quarry so that it could later be caught and interrogated right then and there at gunpoint.

But most...no...all of the specialists would refuse to confess the useful information as to where the Nazi troops were headed, they would simply glare and reply with "Geh zur Hölle!" And then they were...well...let's say beaten to death by a heavy club. Ivan didn't care how Volkov would get the information or terminate the specialists, all he wanted was the knowledge of the Nazi troops' whereabouts. Anything to get what he wanted. Though his ways of torture and vile means of battle were inhumane, Volkov wasn't as dangerous as you.

Volkov was still just a human being and you were a country, which made you ten times more powerful and murderous. You could be shot straight through the chest and effortlessly walk away, no limping or wincing, unlike Volkov who could die in a single gunshot.

Volkov halted and saluted when he reached Ivan, the smug smirk on his face vanished as Ivan widened his smile and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Ivan returned his gaze to his empty glass that still had traces of vodka at the bottom, taking another breath from his cigarette. "How was the escort with Gilbert Beilschmidt?" Ivan asked in a tired and bored tone after exhaling the smoke from his lungs, wanting to take his drive back to his bedroom in the capital building to hit the hay, which was not too far from the interrogation building.

Volkov replied in a blank voice. "Mr. Rolinitis is taking care of him as we speak." Ivan nodded, finishing his cigarette and extinguishing the butt into the ash tray that laid on the front bar. Wanting to keep the conversation short, Ivan stood up from his chair and put his hat back on his beige hair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a couple of dollars to pay for his drinks and laid the payment on the front bar top next to the empty glass.

"Everything is in order for the voyage back to East Germany. We'll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning, just as you ordered." Ivan nodded again. "Good." He continued to talk to Volkov, but was abrupt about it, wanting to keep conversation short. He strode past Volkov making his way towards the exit, snow was beginning to descend from the darkened sky again. "I'm going to the capital to get some rest. I would request that you do the same, lieutenant."

Before exiting the front door, Volkov spoke up, a strange tone trickled over his question. "What are you going to do about (y/n) Beilschmidt? I could try to make her give in for yo-" He was sharply cut off by Ivan's irritated and choleric voice. "I will deal with (y/n) Beilschmidt myself, lieutenant." Ivan gripped the door's handle angrily and ripped the door open, the outside air gusted and blasted against his face, immediately cooling the tips of his fuming ears.

He did not want to be reminded of his troubling prisoner, especially now that he was drunk and cranky from his lack of sleep. Not only that, but he wanted to take you down by himself. What he had against you now, ever since you gave him the nasty shiner on his lower lip and the loss of most of his land and people, was now personal. "Also, don't forget what I told you earlier." Ivan finished, glancing a glare over his shoulder to the sadistic lieutenant.

Volkov chuckled, a small smile widened over his lips as he reminded himself and Ivan of the order from before. "Shoot anyone who tries to cross or come near the border. Even a woman or child." Ripping his glare from Volkov after a few silent seconds, Ivan turned and walked out of the bar, letting the door slam behind him.

He trudged over the snow-coated cobblestone to his personal escort that was patiently waiting for his arrival on the opposite side of the street, he tightened the long scarf around his neck that flailed behind him in the wild wind. Smiling sweetly at the snowy ground, Ivan thought to himself as his driver popped the car door open for him. _She'll give in. They always do._


	6. A Long Night

Twitching and trembling with furious agony, Gilbert cursed under his hoarse breath in explicit German, hissing through his blood-coated and gritted teeth. Blood continued to river out from under his bandaged eyes and slither down his pale, bony cheeks, coating the old, crusted streaks that stuck to his fragile skin, almost like adding another layer of paint to a wall. Carefully, Toris gently placed the alcohol-drenched cloth on one of the many blood-clotted lesions on Gilbert's right arm, cautious not to make it any more painful for him.

At first, Gilbert felt nothing, but then an agonizing and horrendous burning sensation erupted out of the cut and shot up his arm. Taking a sharp, wheezy inhale, Gilbert ripped his arm out of Toris's tender grip immediately as the alcohol made contact with the blood gushing wound.

"Fucking hell, Toris! Give me a fucking break, will you?!" Gilbert screamed vociferously with his last bit of energy, cradling his arm close to his bare chest like it was a beloved child, afraid that it would lose all feeling and shrivel up into dust from the intense pain. It had only been fifteen minutes of alcohol and medical treatment on his gushing, angry wounds and Gilbert had already had enough. He couldn't believe how much pain he had received and endured in just a few hours. Gilbert's pulse raced throughout his form, his entire body was throbbing like a heart of torment. The white bed sheets were dotted here and there with small pools of dark, glossy blood. The sheets couldn't be saved and were now ruined.

Toris sighed with tired, viridescent eyes, placing the alcohol and cloth onto the nightstand next to the large bed. "Gilbert, your wounds aren't going to get any better or heal if you don't let me help you. We have to get this done tonight." Toris softly said, glaring sternly at the sightless man that lay trembling and weak on the large bed. "Do you want them to get infected?"

With his chest heaving up and down in deep, large breathes, Gilbert grunted, annoyed, tired, and pissed. The bedroom was pervaded with the painful, haunting wheezing of Gilbert's lungs filtering with air, though it was steadily decreasing in sound. "J-just....Just give me a minute..." He growled lividly through gritted teeth, hissing as his grip on his mangled arm became less angry by the second. After thinking for a moment, Toris sighed once more, crossing his arms and straightening his back. "Alright...but just a minute."

With an exhale of relief, Gilbert relaxed himself, loosening his grip on his distressed arm, the creases of his hand oozing blood from the gushing crimson of his arm. He began to take steadier breathes, his pulse becoming fainter and fainter in his blurry head. His upper lip was working up a light sweat from the previous shout of anger. On the outside, Gilbert was decreasing in tension and distress, but internally, Gilbert was mentally cursing, bashing himself with insults of weakness and indisposition. _Amazing job, Gilbert. How fucking, incredibly awesome of you to get yourself in this position._ He internally mumbled to himself, feeling his arm twitch painfully from its sudden jerk.

Gilbert could hear Toris pick up the alcohol and cloth, his time was up. He took a few deep breathes as he heard the sloshing of the alcohol being turned over, soaking the cloth with the sharp-smelling liquid. He didn't want to continue this. This was just plain torture to him. It felt like he was already in hell. But he knew that if his wounds weren't treated now, he could most likely die from infections, sickness...and even losing a few fingers ,or maybe a limb. But just the gentle cotton brushing against the cuts was too much for him. He couldn't take anymore grief.

"...Ready?" Toris warned Gilbert as he took his soothed arm in his hand, sounding as solace as possible to him. "...Yes." Gilbert breathed, clenching his jaw and gripping the sheets with his other hand as he braced for the stinging fire that was about to erupt from the slashes. Softly, Toris placed the cloth over several of the gashes, covering much more ground. Gilbert inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a grunt. It definitely hurt, but it wasn't as bad this time. His arm had almost gone numb from the previous pain.

After rubbing and dabbing the now blood-drenched cloth up and down his arm several times, careful not to miss any stray lesions, Toris set the alcohol and cloth down on the nightstand. He picked up the bandage roll, and vigilantly began wrapping up Gilbert's arm from the shoulder to the wrist. Gilbert hissed when Toris pulled too tight, wincing and twitching slightly for a second. "I'm sorry..." Toris whispered under his breath, loosening the bandages a little. Already, the white dressings were splotching with scarlet flowers, slowly increasing in opacity.

 _That's just the arm..._ Toris thought, amazed and alarmed by how much damage Gilbert had taken from the war. Toris had seen him leave past battles with wounds and injuries just like this and walk away laughing as if he couldn't feel them at all, but now he looked disgustingly unhealthy, almost like a neglected horse. Gilbert lay on his back, topless and bare from the waist up. His shirt was far too worn to be saved and had to be thrown out later, even the buttons fell off with such ease. His ribs were visible and ridged up and down his pale chest, his stomach was sunken in. Both his upper body and core were littered with deep cuts and horrendous bruises, a pool of blood was gathering on his descended, white abdomen.

Beads of dark scarlet were rivering down his sides and staining the white sheets that he lay on. His arms were erupting with purple and indigo bruises and red slashes. Luckily, Toris already got one arm cleaned and bandaged. Gilbert's eyes were still covered in the stiff wraps, clotted with layers and layers of tears and dried blood. Gilbert lay as still as a corpse, a twitch twinged from his body every few seconds. Dark, cherry liquid streamed out of the corners of his mouth.

Toris felt his eyes sadden and cringe from the unpleasant sight that lay before him. Gilbert looked as if he had just crawled his way out of hell. Well, the suffering wasn't over for him, even with the war ending and all. He was dissolved and taken over by communism. The Soviet Union. And when you are dissolved, you become more and more human. Which means that you will be much more vulnerable and fragile to physical and mental strikes. Even the slightest change in his territory would cause him inhuman injuries and sickness...even death. This was his worst case scenario.

Picking up a new, clean cloth, Toris drenched it with the warmed alcohol, proceeding with the treatment. He began to work on the chest. Heedfully, he dabbed the cloth on the new area, expecting the swallowed shutter from the injured man. Gilbert tensed and arched his spine, he grunted loudly through gritted teeth. He was becoming weaker and more numb from the pain, but he still reacted. Toris continued to pat the tender wounds until they were covered with the alcohol, he then applied pressure to the large, cascading gash on his side that continued to weep its red tears.

"Not...so hard..!" Gilbert grunted, reaching and gripping Toris's wrist with weak strength. Toris sighed. "I have to apply pressure or it won't stop bleeding." Gilbert grunted, releasing his poor grip from Tori's wrist, clenching the sheets instead. "Just...hurry up..." Gilbert hissed as Toris moved on to his stomach, soaking up the pooling blood that puddled in its drastic depth. "I'm not...looking forward...to dying in this frozen hell..."

"I'm working as fast as I can, Gilbert." Toris said, becoming more and more exhausted as he continued on to Gilbert's left arm, his eyes aching with sleepiness. Toris noticed that Gilbert wasn't reacting as much when he placed the alcohol infested cloth on his arm, going over the most open cuts and the other stray lesions. Gilbert was breathing steadily, but it was very faint with the occasional wheeze climbing out of his lungs.

Toris was becoming more alert and alarmed when he continued the medical process. It was starting to fester at his brain that Gilbert might fall asleep permanently. He had to keep Gilbert as alive as possible tonight and for the next couple of days, even if it meant giving him a few slaps across the cheek. Death could only come so quickly and easily... After wrapping up the second arm, Toris reached and touched the wraps around Gilbert's eyes, wanting to work on the eye wounds next. Alarming Toris, Gilbert reached up with in a quick manor and gripped Toris's wrist. "No... Save that one for last..."

"Why?" Toris asked, removing his fingers from the clotted bandages. Gilbert chuckled weakly for a second before blankly answering, letting go of Toris's wrist. "It's going to hurt the worst..." Toris studied him for a minute, and then sighed. "Alright... I have to work on your back." Gilbert tsked angrily and exhaled with a grunt. "Then help me turn over... I can't...fucking do it myself."

Toris scooped an arm under Gilbert's shoulders and thighs and gently rolled him over. Well...almost gently. Gilbert rolled onto his stomach a little too suddenly, and landed on his stomach hard, causing the slashes to irate. "Fuck...!" Gilbert hissed, punching the mattress with weak force. Gilbert bit the sheets and clenched his teeth. "I'm sorry, Gilbert." Toris apologized, placing a hand on Gilbert's shoulder, attempting to comfort him. "Don't fucking touch me...!" Gilbert yelled with a muffled, bitter voice. "Alright, alright." Toris swiped his hand away from Gilbert, giving him time to calm down and wait for the pain to die down.

The Soviets definitely did a number on him, especially on the eastern front and Königsberg. Toris even saw how crippled and torn Gilbert was a few days earlier in the courtroom when he was pronounced dissolved. He saw how Gilbert stood, hunch over slightly and having to be supported by Ludwig. His ruby eyes sliced open and dripping red and his Prussian blue uniform splotched with black...a sign that told everyone that more unholy damage was hidden beneath the surface. And now, Toris could see it. After a few minutes, Toris picked up a new cloth and drenched it with alcohol. "Ready?"

"...mm.." Gilbert nodded, gripping the sheets and biting them hard between his bloody teeth. Gently, Toris dabbed the cloth, expecting the muffled grunts from Gilbert. He was beginning to tremble again. This pain was going to last a while. Working as fast and diligently as he could, Toris continued to ponder.

It just wasn't right to Toris, how the Allies punished him and his siblings instead of Austria, since their...Führer...had risen out of Austria and not Germany, Prussia, or (country name). But at least the war was over and he was ecstatic that Feliks could now return and gain himself back from the Nazi army. Toris sighed at the harsh memory that transpired six years ago as he continued to dab the alcohol on Gilbert's back, a few hisses exhaled of him every few cuts.

Feliks being invaded and stripped of his land and the murder of his people, which was carried out by the German army in the east under Gilbert's order. Though Gilbert had taken over Poland and nearly wiped out Feliks completely, Toris had pity for Gilbert and his people. Gilbert and Ludwig were completely blinded and poisoned by Hitler's lunatic laws, theories, and radical dictatorship. Toris had to admit, Gilbert was an arrogant asshole at times...well...most of the time, and Toris had a rocky relationship with him ever since he attempted to decapitate Feliks and successfully invade and control him during the war in 1939, six years ago. Not to mention the thousands of people that were killed in Poland. But war was war. Not everyone will live or become victorious.

Toris didn't want Gilbert to die on him for many reasons. But, if Gilbert died, it would immediately become a permanent part of Russia and wouldn't cause much change to the geography. But it could cause Toris many horrific punishments and communist 'treatments' by Ivan himself and there was even a possibility that you might go after Toris for his ignorance and cause of Gilbert being deceased. Hell, you voluntarily handed yourself over to the Soviets just to keep Gilbert safe.

Another possibility was that you could even cause a rebellion against the Soviet Union, even though you were under their watch, power, and separation. It was all too possible. Ivan's never-ending beatings, your revenge, the continuation and spread of sickness called communism. The thought of you hunting him down and smashing his skull into the ground caused Toris to wince. Blood and pieces of brain and white skull fragments flying up, the blood-curdling crunch of his skull against the ground. It frightened him. Toris knew you were, without a doubt, close to Gilbert and would do anything to protect him. Even wipe out another country just to keep him safe and sound.

"We're almost finished." Toris softly said, rolling Gilbert over and pushing him up into a sitting position. Gilbert shuttered a groan as he sat up, his cuts burning like fire. Toris began wrapping bandages around his stomach, back, and shoulders, starting from the bottom up. After a minute of bundling Gilbert's upper body, the wraps began to blossom and seep with blood. "I didn't think there...was so much..." Gilbert mumbled under his breath. "Well, they're all not that bad, Gilbert." Toris replied, as he finished wrapping his torso. "Some of them are already healing just fine."

Carefully, Toris laid Gilbert down onto his back. He groaned and his breath hitched for a moment, his left leg jerked. "How are your legs?" Toris asked, placing a tender hand on Gilbert's knee. "There's...not much." Gilbert wheezed. He was tired. "I'll take a look anyways." Toris said, as he rolled up the ends of Gilbert's pants. Instantly, the fabric tore like paper, it was so worn and weak. It was falling apart on it's own. Gilbert's legs weren't that bad. He had a few black and blue bruises and small, shallow cuts in some places.

But overall, his legs seemed fine, they were just tired and lanky. "You're legs are okay, but I'm going to disinfect the few cuts that you have." Toris said, picking up a new, alcohol-infested cloth. "How...are they okay...if they have cuts on them?" Gilbert said through gritted teeth as the alcohol came in contact with the small lesions. "You know what I meant, Gilbert..." Toris tsked, catching Gilbert smirk out of the corners of his jade eyes. "Well...at least his annoying humor is still well and alive." Toris thought as he returned his gazed to Gilbert's legs. Quickly, he wrapped up both legs and moved up to Gilbert's head.

"Well...it's time for the worst part." Toris softly said, his eyes saddened as he took up another new cloth. "This is going to hurt." "Thanks for the reassurance..." Gilbert sighed. Toris began wiping up the blood that trickled from the corners of his mouth. Setting the cloth down on the nightstand, Toris hesitated before touching the bandages that coiled around Gilbert's head, hiding the horrendous wounds that laid across his eyes. The blood rivering out from under the wraps told Toris that it wasn't going to be a pleasant sight. Tearing off the clotted, aged dressings, Toris paused taking the picture in. It was depraved. Obscene. Vile. _No more._

Squeezing his eyes shut, cringing, and turning his face away, Toris nearly ralphed. Instead he heaved and coughed, covering his mouth in case he vomited. "That bad...?" Gilbert mumbled, smirking weakly. Toris looked back at Gilbert's face. Gilbert's eyes were purple, blue, black, and red, swollen like plague boils. His eyelids were shut tight, nearly stuck together, blood oozed from the small parting that they had. His light eyelashes were sticking out in different directions and matted with crimson. A yellow substance leaked from the outer corners of his eyes...most likely puss.

Tearing his stare away from the revolting image, Toris picked up the cloth. "Ready...?" Toris asked, readying himself for the haunting screams and squirming that was about to erupt from Gilbert's crippled body. "...Ready as I'll ever be." Gilbert gripped the sheets with the last bit of strength in his arms.

Toris brought the cloth to Gilbert's eyes, applying gentle pressure to the swollen, tortured area. Immediately, Gilbert unhooked his grip on the sheets and with incredible force yanked Toris's hand with the cloth away from his face. Toris jumped away, tripping and falling backwards over the pile of used, bloody cloths and Gilbert's crusted boots. An ear-piercing shout of agony exploded out of Gilbert's lungs. His entire body turned on its side and curled up, his hands went directly to his eyes which were now throbbing with torment. "FUCK!!" Gilbert hissed loudly through the hands that were covering his face. As Toris climbed to his feet, Gilbert continued to groan German swears and hiss like a snake. It was going to be a long night.

 

 

 

Toris bundled Gilbert's bloody clothes and the crimson cloths into his arms. It was all over. Gilbert lay still like a corpse, fast asleep in the bed, several blankets were piled on top of him. Finally, he was able to gain the well needed rest. Toris planned to stay up the entire night to check on Gilbert every few hours, just to see if he was still breathing. Toris couldn't tell if he was sleeping or dead as he glanced over his shoulder before leaving the room. Drowsily, Toris silently slipped into the extensive hallway and stepped down the lingering stairs. The mansion was dark. Only a few lamps on the hallway tables were emitting their yellow light, illuminating the area around them. It was just enough light for Toris to see. The mansion was definitely Russian, an eastern style of light patterns on the walls and decorative embroidery on the frames and interior structure. Massive paintings hung on the walls and small, shut-off chandeliers dangled from the ceilings. The howling of the freezing wind whirled outside, snowflakes glued themselves to the windows. A very cozy temperature settled throughout the mansion. Eduard definitely started a fire in the main living room.

After strolling down the maze hallways and another flight of stairs with the bundle of bloody cloth in his arms, Toris made his way to the massive living room. Raivis lay in a deep sleep on one of the three couches that were in the spacious room. His blond-haired head resting on one of the pillows. Eduard was lounged across the couches that faced the fireplace, he was wide awake and reading a book. He quickly glanced up and set the book down as Toris walked into the room. Eduard stood tiredly, pushed his glasses into place, and walked with Toris to the fireplace.

"How is he?" Eduard asked, his blue eyes darted to the dark, bloody cloths and what was left of Gilbert's clothing. Toris tossed the cloth pile into the large, roaring fireplace. The fabric was instantly swallowed by the fire because of the alcohol and increased the fire's light, size, and heat. Toris gazed into the fire as he spoke. "He's pretty badly damaged, but I think he'll manage to pull through. He won't be able to see for a while. It will probably be weeks...maybe months before he'll be able to walk without hurting himself."

"Where is his sister? We heard from you earlier today that (y/n) Beilschmidt volunteered to hand herself over to the Soviet Union to protect Gilbert." Eduard spoke in a tone of fear, concern, and curiosity. "Is it true? She's here in Russia?" Toris nodded as he pulled off his grey, top sweater which was splattered with Gilbert's blood. He tossed it into the fire since it couldn't be saved. "She is." He replied as he adjusted his white, button up shirt that was underneath the sweater.

"Then why wasn't she brought here along with Gilbert?" Eduard asked with furrowed brows as Toris tore his eyes away from the fire to look at Eduard. "Ivan's keeping her in the heart of Moscow for a few months for some tests and demonstrations. Volkov told me that it has something to do with Ivan completely having custody over (country name) until the separation is over..."

Eduard's eyes narrowed and his brows became worried. "You're kidding? Ivan's going to try and take over (country name) completely?" Toris turned and slumped onto the couch, exhausted. He glanced up at the clock on the fireplace mantel, it read 2:10 am. "I know Ivan is capable of taking countries down and is drastically dangerous himself, but her...she's hell on legs!" Eduard raised his voice.

"Shh." Toris hushed Eduard to keep his voice down since Raivis was sleeping soundly just a few feet away. Raivis moaned and turned onto his side. He was still asleep. "Just think of what could happen if she rebels against him and launches a war on the Soviet Union. We are part of it. She'll go after us too. Didn't you hear what she did in Stalingrad with the specialists? The city was a bloodbath." Eduard whispered in a frightened tone, his eyes flashed a bit of panic. Toris nodded. "I know, Eduard. I've been thinking the same thing." Toris said looking up at the blond haired Estonian. "But as long as we keep Gilbert alive and well, she won't launch an attack. That's all she cares about. There would be no point for her in holding back a war if Gilbert was killed."

"But Prussia's dissolved. It will only be a matter of time before Gilbert disappears completely." Eduard nervously and slowly paced in front of the fireplace. "Then what? World War three. That's what. But this time, it's going to be carried out by (y/n). Ludwig and the previous Axis members could even join her and rise up again."

"Eduard, calm yourself." Toris softly spoke, rising to his feet. "Everything will be okay. As soon as things are under control and back to normal in Germany, Gilbert and (y/n) will return to Berlin. It is most likely that Gilbert will be able to live as long as possible as a part of German household. The court never said that he couldn't be a part of that. He'll regain his strength long before he'll be reunited with Ludwig."

Eduard hesitated, but nodded. "Okay." He breathed with some relief, but nervousness still lingering in his facial expression. "I'm going to check on Gilbert. I think you should get some sleep." Toris said as he turned on his heal, heading for the stairs. "Alright..." Eduard replied, sitting back down onto the couch and picking up his unfinished book. As he listened to Toris's boots climb up the stairs, Eduard rubbed a hand through his golden-blond hair. He knew that these next few months were going to be tough for everybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for over 400 hits! I wasn't able to post this new chapter because of school and other stuff. But here it is. Enjoy!


	7. Yield

The groaning and growling of your stomach awoke you from your painful, dreamless sleep. Sleeping in a sitting position wasn't the best idea, though you were used to it. Your lower back was aching with an annoying soreness, knowing that there were going to be irritating knots in your toned muscles. You would have to stretch for a week to get them loosened. Slowly, your eyes began to fuzz open, your surroundings were blurry from the deep sleep, having no knowledge of what time of day it was.

You knew it had to have been days since anyone entered the compact room, but you predicted that it had been eight days because you had fallen asleep eight times. Your hunger had grown and increased over the long period of time. No one had come in to give you food or water. The doors produced a lot of noise when they were opened and closed. You were a light sleeper and an insomniac after all. The drop of a pin would've woken you from your well needed slumber and alerted you in a split second, readying yourself for anything. The only noise that could be heard was the usual, busy shuffling of boots from the floor above.

Picking your head up from the table and rubbing your (e/c) eyes, you sat back in your chair, straightening, arching, and stretching your back. It felt sore, yet relieving and soothing. It had been weeks since you had a good stretch. You ran your fingers through your (h/l), (h/c) hair. You would definitely need a shower or a bath sometime soon. Your skin and hair felt filthy from the hard hours of the long, dirty war. A shower would be an extremely rare luxury in the war time. Clean water and good soap was hard to come by, even for you, a potent and formidable country.

Your hunger had only worsened as well as the slash on your chest. The annoying cut was festering with itch, never seeming to heal. It was still bleeding slowly. Blood must have completely covered your stomach like paint by now. It needed medical attention now. You clutched your stomach with one hand as the aching, sharp pain coiled inside you as you became much more awake. You needed food.

Tsking angrily, you thought that this was part of the Soviet torture. Starve the prisoners. You had used this kind of torture on your own prisoners if they didn't cooperate or tried to escape your clutches. But they were human, so you starved them for only half the time, unlike a country who could go on for weeks without food or water and could hold their need to use the lavatory. Countries were so much more different than normal humans. Humans could only live for a certain amount of years, mostly ranging from 60 to 100 years old. But they can die at any time from disease, accidents, war, and even other people. Countries, however, could live for hundreds of years and can survive the most deadliest wounds, diseases, pains, and war. The life of a country is almost immortal. _Almost..._

You stood up to ease the pain, making the chair screech in the process. For most of the days, you exercised or paced back and forth beside the wall. You had even tried banging on the wall again, just in case Gilbert was still in the next room. Anything to make time fly by faster. Your exercises consisted of a series of wall sits, crunches, and other basic positions. Ludwig always told you to train whenever you have time on your hands. It was a good way to speed things up and strengthen yourself at the same time. But your sweat always made you stop.

Unlike your brothers, you hated feeling filthy and sweaty on your skin and hair. Gilbert often teased you about it, often comparing you to Roderich when it came to hygiene. It irritated you in every way, but it didn't make you angry. Gilbert was your older brother and he was supposed to be the teasing big brother. But you were more than fine with getting dirty when it came to war and battling, but when you were without a bath or shower for some time after working up a sweat, you felt disgusted and uncomfortable.

You rubbed your lower back with both hands, moving them in small circles. Your muscles felt like sharp, stiff rocks. They were so tight and coiled. "Make that two weeks..." You mumbled under your breath, meaning how long you would need to message your muscles. Just as you released your hands from your lower back, the door began to make a tumbling sound. Quickly, you alerted yourself, standing very still. Someone was coming in. The door swung open with the squeak of the hinges. Two soldiers entered the room and stood on both sides of the doorway. You let out a silent sigh of disgust as the last person entered the room. The last person on earth you would want to see. Ivan.

The towering country strode into the room with a smile happily spread across his face, a file was in his hand. Most likely more questions. The bruise on his lower lip and jaw still lingered, but it was slowly vanishing away. His Soviet hat rested proudly on top of his beige haired head. His usual scarf was wrapped around his neck, cascading from his shoulders to his heals, almost touching the ground. He cocked his head slightly to the side and widened his smile. "Good morning, milaya." He said in a bright tone, his lavender eyes half lidded.

"That's not my name, cunt." You mumbled with an indifferent, quiet voice, a glare fused into your (e/c) eyes at the obnoxious name he kept calling you. There was a small pause before Ivan chuckled and took a step forward. His smile only expanded. "I see you're well and rested."

His amethysts bore into yours as he continued. "I am looking forward to your performance next week. I expect to see a great deal of skill." You kept silent, confused by his words at first, but then realized what he meant. He smirked after your look of ponder and slight confusion. You only glared back with a dark look, your chest and the tips of your ears fumed with angry heat. You knew that Ivan was going to make you engage in some sort of combat and skill demonstrations, maybe even torture techniques. There was no doubt in your mind that you were going to be forced to train his soldiers with your barbaric techniques. Just the thought of training his communist army made your fist itch for a deadly blow to Ivan's head.

The two soldiers then left the room and the door swung closed, the tumbling of the lock followed after. You were once again locked in the room with the godawful Ruski. "Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss." Ivan motioned to the table with his free hand, his childish smile still plastered to his face. You stood still for a moment, sighed softly, and then sat down at the table after Ivan took his seat. He took off his hat and gently placed it onto the table. He plopped the file onto the table and flipped it open. Bored out of your mind, you propped your head up on your elbow, resting your jaw in your hand. A phlegmatic mask fell over your face as you situated your signature sitting posture, your foot resting on the opposite knee. You had a feeling today was going to be longer than the past eight days, combined.

"Sleep well?" Ivan asked innocently, he was still staring at the documents he was skimming through with those intense, purple eyes. You ignored him. The question was a tease, of course, but about everything he asked you was a tease, a taunt, an annoyance. You continued to stare at the table's flat, metal surface. Ivan chuckled in his throat, abrupt and short. You tightened your free hand in a loose fist which was dangling by your side. You squeezed and released it, just to restrain yourself from causing another outbreak like the one eight days ago.

You glanced up at the ceiling for a few seconds. You could see the small specks of blood that stained the ceiling. They almost looked like freckles on a grey face. During the week of waiting for Ivan's return, you remembered playing connect the dots while laying on the floor, unable to sleep. Returning your gaze to the table, you giggled internally at the silly thought. You had an odd sense of humor, being the youngest meant you still had some sort of immaturity to slither out of your apathetic mood every once in a while. Gilbert would be rather amused with it unlike Ludwig, who would usually scold you out of it unless he was in a pleasant attitude. But it was a very rare occurrence.

"I'm sorry for our little...misunderstanding a few days ago. I was getting a little carried away with myself." Ivan breathed as he finished scanning the papers, setting back down into the open file folder. Again, you didn't reply. You knew he wasn't really sorry for his statement. You took your head out of your hands and sat up straight, inhaling through your nose and pushing a few strands of (h/c) hair out of your face. The next round of questions was just about to begin, you were fully awake now.

Ivan looked up at you, his annoying smile wasn't present. He looked serious for once. You guessed he was still vexed from the bruise on his bottom lip and chin. You didn't blame him. It was quite noticeable and the fussy, purple color stood out against his light complexion. It was definitely an embarrassment for him. "My men reported to me that there was a lot of noise coming from this room for the past couple of days. Some banging on the walls." A small smile formed on his lips as he spoke, but anger scorched in his purple eyes. "What do you think it came from?" He teased, his violet eyes toying with yours.

Staying as calm as you could be, you responded. "I became quite impatient while being stuck in here. There wasn't much to do." Ivan raised an eyebrow under his messy, beige bangs, a strange smirk played onto his lips. "So you banged on the walls?" You sat still, staring at him. You knew that he perceived something was up. "No one pounds on the walls out of boredom, milaya."

"Call me that one more time." You snapped in a low tone, your eyebrows furrowed slightly out of irritation. The tips of your ears began to fume again. Ivan stood up after a few seconds of heated silence, his chair screeched out from under him, the usual smile that spread on his face morphed into a sulked, angered frown. The childlike innocence was drained from his face.

He placed his gloved hands on the table, he leaned and hunched over the table, staring down at you like a hawk on a perch. "I'm not in the mood for a fight right now, Beilschmidt." He growled, his accent ran thick over his words. "Either you answer me in full honesty or your separation from Gilbert will be extended. What were you doing in here?"

Vexation furrowed into your brows, your posture and expression showed no signs of fear or dismay. The words that poured out of his mouth sent you into an internal rage. "I don't fucking believe this... The bastard separated us..." You growled in the deep trenches of your mind. It seemed Ivan wasn't going to play around today. You stood up as well, but not as fast as Ivan did. Your faces were now nearly inches apart, you could smell the strong cigarette smoke on his breath. You were glaring into each other's eyes. It was a face off. Either one of you could make the first move at this point.

"Where. Is. My brother?" You hissed lowly. The question sounded like a lethal threat, a warning. "That's none of your concern right now. Now shut up and answer my question. What were you doing in here?" Ivan replied coldly, keeping his intense stare on you.

"None of your fucking business, Braginski..." You retaliated, your (e/c) orbs glared. Ivan leaned in close...dangerously close. "You know, the Allies never said I couldn't hurt you." He threatened in a low, childish whisper, his smile returned menacingly. Your fist tightened into stiff balls of steel. You giggled scornfully, it sounded low and dark.

"You wouldn't do that." You boasted in a whisper, your small, rare smirk presented itself on your lips. Ivan raised an irritated eyebrow. "Oh? And how would you know, Nazi?" He replied, overconfidence and displeasure seasoned his riposte, his smirk slowly slinking from cheek to cheek.

"Because you are afraid. You are afraid of me; you're own prisoner." You taunted with a small, angry sneer, your teeth barely showing. "And this little island of a country has taken away millions of your men while I am left untouched. How's about that for being effective, Stalinist?" That made Ivan snap.

His gloved hands just missed your neck by a few inches as you swiftly dodged his bulky swipe with graceful ease, leaning your upper body backwards. Jumping back and dexterously landing on your feet, you took a defensive stance, just barely holding up your fists. The file that was filled with documents fluttered to the floor, Ivan's Soviet hat plummeted softly to the floor from the sudden force. You glared up at Ivan. His eyes were dark and boiling with purple rage. His smirk was twisted with anger. His fists were balled, you could hear the leather gloves squeezing under pressure of his hands.

"Let's get something straight right now, (y/n)." He sneered through gritted teeth. He slowly walked around the table like a predator, he was inching his way over to you. He pulled something out of his Soviet trench coat. Your eyes narrowed as you recognized the firearm. All you had to know was that it was dangerously accurate. He held it at his side, trying to intimidate you as he stopped a few feet in front of you. "You're going to cooperate under my rule and accept the communist order. You are to train my army whether you like it or not. If you dare to refuse, I will not hesitate to harm your brother."

Your face was boiling with hate and ugly feelings. Your chest was fuming with incredible heat, the slash was ripped open again and bleeding down your chest and stomach. The gun didn't threaten you at all, but the hostile words that growled out of Ivan's mouth sent you into deep, hopeless thought. Furrowing your eyebrows with rage, you lowered your eyes to the floor, sighing in frustration. After a few moments, Ivan spoke again. His childish tone returned. "It's your choice, pet. Either you hand yourself completely to me and join the union...or East Germany can perish."

You closed your eyes slowly, letting your (h/c) hair curtain around your face as you leaned your back against the wall. You crossed your arms. Ivan had lied about his agreement to the negotiation with the Allies. He had the power and custody to eliminate you and Gilbert whenever he wanted. The other Allies were no match for him and defeating him was going to be impossible. If he was to mass overdraft, he wouldn't hesitate to do so with the rest of Europe. You had no other choice...

"...Give me some time to think about it..."

 

 

 

Ludwig sat still in his chair, his head resting in one, propped hand. The dying fire glowed as its coals began to settle, an occasional pop echoed in the living room from the sputtering wood. He stared into the fading fireplace with his sharpened, blue eyes, deep in thought. His other hand was fiddling with the pen he was previously using for his unfinished paperwork and war expenses. His hair was down and unslicked, his bangs almost covering his eyes. He had only completed five papers out of forty, enough documents to fill up his entire evening. But he couldn't seem to pick up where he started again. He needed to turn them in next Thursday at the meeting, though he wasn't expecting many countries to come to the gathering. The war had caused so much tension between the European, North American, and Asian countries, no one wanted to attend the awkward get-together. His mind was somewhere else.

Normally, when he was stressed, Ludwig would keep himself busy with paperwork or his country statuses. But he couldn't quite think straight. After just a few minutes of working, Ludwig would find himself staring at an unfinished paper, his brain wandering off. This had been going on for the past eight days, ever since the separation. He couldn't get the depressing image out of his head. The image, well, now a haunting memory of you and Gilbert being dragged away from him and piling into the Soviet truck, off to Moscow. Not only did the horrific image disturb him. It made him overthink about the treatment you and Gilbert must have been receiving.

 _Why did I listen to that fool?_ Ludwig thought, scolding himself like a father to a child. He was talking about Roderich, who was probably sleeping soundly in his bed in Austria, carefree. _Could I have really been that careless to let this happen? Gilbert getting dissolved, (y/n) taken to Russia, and I'm getting the blame for all of this disaster,...because I listened to Austria?_

He pictured Gilbert tethered tightly to a chair, Red Army soldiers circled around him, each taking their turns to hammer their brutal fists into his stomach and every individual wound on his crippled body. The agonizing, weak screams coughing out of Gilbert's bruised, bloody lungs, unable to have the ability or chance to call out to someone. Someone to save him from the frozen hell. Glossy blood streaming down his chin and neck, his eyes permanently damaged and blind, forever unable to see.

You were held back by two soldiers, both having painful, inhuman grips on your arms and shoulders that were too strong for you to break out of. Soviet soldiers encircling you, their eyes filled with cruel, sadistic pleasure as Ivan strolled up to you. A sneer spread across the towering Russian's face as he reached out and began to pet and caressed your (h/l), (h/c) hair, lustfully. Your teeth were gritted and stained with crimson blood caused by the communist sickness, your expression vexed and panicked. Lechery engulfed Ivan's eyes as he stroked your cheek, you disgustedly turned your face away. His gloved hand then slid down to your chin, then to your neck, slowly. His prodigious hand started to tighten around your windpipe, you gagged, coughing. He was choking you.

A clitter clatter of nails against wood softly walked against the wood like a dulcet whisper that ripped the German country from his nightmarish thoughts. Startled, Ludwig snapped his head to the direction of the sudden clatter. With half of his body peeking around the corner, one of Ludwig's dogs, squinted into the living room, the orange, glowing light illuminated his black and brown body. His warm, soft, sepia eyes looked tired, but sad like any normal dog. His tail was still, not at all wagging, but Ludwig couldn't tell. He had the appearance of a typical German Shepard, but had a touch of grey hairs on his chest. His name was Hartwin.

"Hey? What are you doing up?" Ludwig whispered loud enough for the dog to hear, taking his head out of his hand and setting down his pen on the coffee table, wondering why he was up in the middle of the night. It wasn't like him to be awake at this hour, since he quite active all throughout the day. Immediately, Hartwin's eyes lit up, stuck out his tongue, and traipsed into the dim living room, wagging his tail. He was Ludwig's ideal companion, yes, but he wasn't exactly a fan of his personality and behavior. He was an unteachable dog that had no idea what a command was. For years, Ludwig wanted to get rid of the hound because of its disobedience. But Gilbert insisted that he keep him and continue trying to train and discipline the dog. And being that Gilbert was going to be gone for a while, Ludwig held onto Hartwin and promised that he would be the most obedient dog by the time his brother got back.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow as the dog wandered closer. He glanced up at the clock that stood on the fireplace mantel. 1:54 am. "What's wrong, Hart?" Ludwig asked sternly with some concern in his voice.

Hartwin jumped up on the couch, something Ludwig did not approve of. Ludwig made a noise of distaste and began scolding the hound. "No, no! Get down, boy, get down!" He rebuked, pointing at the floor while looking the dog in the eye. But it was useless, and Hartwin laid down on his side and curled up slightly, still facing Ludwig, orange light glowed over his fur. He made a sharp whine as he yawned, showing his canines. Ludwig sighed, seeing that there was no use in telling the dog to get down. Nothing he could do would make Hartwin loyal.

After a few moments, Ludwig turned his face to the dying fire. He sighed again. "You and I both." Ludwig agreed with Hartwin's yawn, his eyes depressing as he continued to stare into the fire. A few long, silent minutes passed.

"...You know, I- I really though we could." Ludwig said after the prolonged silence. Hartwin cocked his head and perked his pointy ears attentively, listening to what Ludwig had to say though he did not understand a word he was saying. "I really thought we could have ruled Europe...maybe even the world. Having complete power, creating the strongest empire on earth. The Axis... I really thought it could have been real. It could have been ours." Ludwig paused, then shook his head lightly. "But...when you begin to see through your blindfold, you can espy the distopia that you created." Ludwig continued with his stern face, mumbling halfway through his sentence. "Though this war is now behind us...I can still see the effects... I was so wrong. Now I'm restricted from meeting with my previous allies of the Axis. I'm just hoping that these Nuremberg Trials go by quickly... I can't withstand them..."

Ludwig returned his look over to the German shepard. The dog was blinking and glancing all around as if he were having many ideas at once, breathing through his mouth with his tongue moving with his breath. The German sighed again, glancing down at his recently polished boots. "Who am I kidding. You're a dog. You can't understand me anyways." Ludwig whispered with a depressed laugh. Hartwin picked his head up at the German country whose eyes were a lot more depressed than before. He then closed his mouth, reached over with one paw, and placed it on Ludwig's lap, looking up at Ludwig with a meaningful stare. Ludwig snapped his head to the dog, seeing, somehow, and understanding sentence. His blue eyes began to tear up the longer he stared. It's okay.

Hesitating at first, Ludwig stood up silently and moved himself to the couch, sitting himself down in the space between the arm of the couch and Hartwin's head. He draped his forearm over Hartwin's back loosely, leaning his back against the back pillows of the couch. He laid his head and neck back, resting them on the wooden frame of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. As the fire continued to die down and dog's soft breathes took over the noise of living room, Ludwig blinked his sore eyes slower and slower until sleep washed over his vision.

 

 

Brrrriiing! Ludwig jerked his head up with a snap, his upper body lurching forward before he caught himself. His heart was racing so fast, he could hear and feel it pulse in his chest and brain. His forehead worked up a light sweat from the loud noise that yanked him out of his dreamless sleep. The living room was dark, the fire was long gone, no moonlight from the tall windows could be seen. Brrriiing! It was the telephone, which was next to him on the small endtable next to his side of the couch. Luckily, there was a lamp on the endtable as well. Relaxing himself, Ludwig sighed in relief, rubbing his face with one hand. He reached over to the side of him, feeling for the lamp's switch. He found it and switched it on. Ludwig squeezed his eyes shut from the sudden, bright light.

Brrriiing! The phone ringed out again. Ludwig could feel that Hartwin had moved his head onto his lap while they were asleep. Hartwin's tail twitched and his body turned a little before he settled himself, trying to ignore the irritating and noisy telephone. Ludwig squinted into the light and his vision became less and less fuzzy, everything becoming clearer. He glanced up at the clock that was on the fireplace mantel. 4:47 am. He found the phone with its big, rotary dial face staring at him. He picked up the handset with one hand and held the curly wire with the other. He brought the handset up to his ear and mouth.

"Hello?" He asked tiredly, his blue eyes half lidded. "Ludwig. It's Alfred." The person on the other end of the phone said. His voice sounded troubled.

"Alfred...Why are you calling me this early? It's almost five o' clock in the morning." Ludwig growled sleepily, furrowing his brows with irritation.

"I know, Ludwig... But I'm afraid we have some bad news." Alfred said uneasily, there was a lot of worry present in his tone. "It's involving your sister, (y/n)." Ludwig's eyes widened in surprise and panic. "What? (y/n)? What happened?" Ludwig asked in a voice louder than a whisper. The dog's eyes parted and opened, awakening from his short and transient sleep. There was a pause and then a sigh on the other end.

"I'm afraid...(y/n) has joined the Soviet Union."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyy, so finals are coming up, which means that I'm going to be studying. There are going to be delayed updates, but once summer break comes, there will be weekly updates because I have no friends and nothing to do :') Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!!


	8. Complications

13 Hours Earlier, 4:30 pm

 

The intimidating paper that was laid before you definitely made your (e/c) eyes fume with complete disgust. You could just barely make out the print on the paper with the minimal lamplight. Of course it was in Russian. The large room was dimly illuminated by the bright, flaxen lamp that was placed on the mahogany desk. The massive, lofty windows emitted little sunlight, the heavily clouded sky was growing with the darkness of the twilight. Snowflakes embroidered the panes, fogging up the sides with the internal heat. The air was swamped with the harsh smell of tobacco smoke, it was making your nostrils smolder and burn.

You glanced up for a moment, an unmoved glare in your eyes. There was a man seated happily on the other side of the bulky desk. His uniform spotless and presenting a few medals. His thick mustache twitching as a stiff smile curled onto his lips. He held a pipe in his thick fingers, which was emitting tobacco smoke from the opening. His small, dark eyes were aged and wrinkled at the corners. He could almost be mistaken for a hideous, wort-infested toad. He had the eyes of a callous, ancient mortal. The worst of the Big Three. Joseph Stalin.

You despised the man completely. Hated him. Loathed him. Watching him smile made the sultry, red blood boil in your ears. If Ivan wasn't holding Gilbert in a mystery location with a possible executioner, you wouldn't take any hesitation in slamming the commie toad's head straight through the hard desk and launching him out of the tall window, tossing him into the snowy world. Glass shards splintering into his flesh as his body limply plummeted to the icy ground, the white snow turning red around his lifeless body. The brutal image offered you great deal of joy and satisfaction, something that you would recall as your 'Greatest Masterpiece.'

It would be such a sweet indulgence for your hands to give into their blood-thirsty desires and wrap their inhuman grip on his blocky neck, crushing his windpipe and flushing his face a deep purple. It would end a monstrous amount of sickness and suffrage, one that is spreading like an uncontrolled wildfire from country to country. Communism. And it could possibly grant Gilbert's freedom from the Soviets...maybe even discontinue Ivan's plan to build the wall. Ah...holding Stalin for ransom to allow Gilbert his liberation of the damn Ruskis...such a beautiful illustration, but it wasn't going to be possible at the moment.

You could feel the dense, compelling stare of Ivan's eyes on your shoulders. The towering fuck was standing just inches behind you. Inches. You could just sense the rubbery surface on the tips of his stiff boots against the heels of yours. You knew he still had that gun in his hand, but he didn't have it raised. It was at his side with a firm grip around the handle. There were several other soldiers in the room. Seven to be exact. All of them were equipped with firearms, mostly rifles. They definitely took precaution of this...surrender. The Russians were more than happy that you came to the complete submission of you and your country, but there was no doubt in their minds that you could be lying just to terminate their red leader. It would be so obvious to take this opportunity to get a handsome revenge for the war, the imprisonment of your brother, and the viable wall.

"If you would, please, sign your name on the bottom line, (country name)." Stalin said in a pleased tone, using his native language. He held out an open pen and then plopped it onto the paper. You hesitated for a moment. You could feel your pulse racing through your neck, your brain prickling with jitter. This was it. (Country name), the strongest, most unbreakable country on earth was about to hand herself over completely to the Soviets...just to keep her brother safe.

 _...Unbelievable..._ You thought as you reached out, took the pen into your hand, and placed the point onto the thin, blank line. You didn't move. _I...can't do this... Am I...scared?_   You thought, the outside of you remaining indifferent. _Come on, (y/n). Stop being a fucking pussy and sign the fucking paper. Forget about your damn pride. It's one goddamn surrender. It's about time you learned when to lose, anyways._

You moved the tip of the pen slowly along the line, you chose to write in cursive. You just finished the first letter of your name. You continued the rest of your name at a steady pace. Clenching your teeth, you felt Ivan's lips curl into a smirk of delight as you were halfway done with your last name. This was definitely an enjoyable moment for him, his revenge for the busted lip and bruised chin. You were hoping that there would be a chance for you to punch that complacent smile off his face again. Maybe knock out a few teeth this time.

Before you realized it, you finished your signature. With a silent sigh, you lowered the pen down to the surface of the desk. "Well done, (y/n) Beilschmidt." Stalin said as he stood up, setting his pipe down onto the desk. "You've made a very wise decision." He extended his hand.

You stared at it with a glare, then you glanced up at him with a tepid look. There was no way you were going to shake his hand. The signature for the surrender was one thing, but shaking Stalin's hand was just for embarrassment, pleasure, and humiliation. There was a small, light prod on your lower back. The tip of Ivan's gun just nudged your flesh. Your eyes fixed to the side, not quite able to glance over your shoulder to view the abhorring Russian. You weren't at all frightened by the gun or the hot lead that would bring much godawful pain, but you weren't looking forward to digging a bullet out of your back. Too much of a chore for you, especially with the damage that was still slashed straight across your chest.

 _Fine, Braginski..._ You thought, returning your eyes to Stalin's extended hand, which was still patiently waiting for your embrace. You raised your (e/c) eyes to his, locking them with his, unblinking and vexed into a glare of cold, yet equable hate. You raised your hand slowly without hesitation, extended it, and grasped his hand lightly. You gave him the limp-fish handshake, not giving him a firm grip at all, showing him that you had no respect or trust for him. Just complete and utter hate. He, on the other hand, gripped your hand firmly like a tensing snake. His smile widened, you kept your stare, not moving at all. You both shook once. That was all.

"Welcome to the Soviet Union, (country name)."

 

 

 

 

The next morning, 8 AM

Ivan tittered fiendishly. He didn't chuckle out of exhilaration, but out of complete frustration, anger, and disbelief. It sounded strange to Volkov, hearing Ivan snicker in such a tone, but he knew that it wasn't a good reaction. "Do you mind running that by me again, Volkov?" Ivan asked in a childish voice, his sweet tone sending jitter throughout Volkov's spine.

A part of Volkov didn't want to repeat the words that stuttered out of his mouth a few seconds earlier. He could be killed where he stood like an intruding spider or he could receive a brutally fowl slap to the face, which would leave an embarrassing, purple mark. However, no matter if he repeated himself or not, he had the possibility of losing his position in the army....maybe even being killed. Taking a quiet swallow, he repeated the words with tension in his throat, careful not to stutter.

"The construction of the wall has been ceased." Volkov mumbled out, apprehension jolting through his stomach. There was a long silence. Ivan chuckled where he stood, gloved hands joined behind his back and his head tilted down. The brim of his hat just shading his deep-purple eyes. He was gazing out the window down at the moderately busy street. Trucks and cars would honk their horns every now and then. Men and women with their bundled children going about their way on the snow coated streets. Most of them had several layers of clothes on. The window emitted its bright, morning sunlight, the shadows of the steady snow petaled through the bright beams of light. Frost and fog rimmed the edges of the massive window.

Volkov could see Ivan's lips twitch into a larger smirk. This wasn't good. "Start explaining, lieutenant." Ivan growled under his breath, his teeth were clenched together tightly. Volkov straightened his stature, preparing for anything that could strike him, though his facial features showed a great amount of annoyance. Volkov sighed in irritation like he was scolding and admonishing a child. "...Sir, it wasn't my decision. I received orders from Stalin to-" Volkov was cut off by an enraged, yet low holler.

"Stalin doesn't know what he's talking about, Volkov." Ivan turned on his heal and began to stalk towards Volkov across the wooden floor menacingly. Not a speck of innocence could be found in his amethyst eyes, his eyebrows furrowed lividly under his beige bangs. The lieutenant didn't move.

"Sir, he's your leader and he controls the country. It's his decision whether the wall should be built or not." Volkov murmured, trying to sound reasonable or at least trying to calm Ivan down before his anger rises past his normal peak. Volkov has seen Ivan become much more raged in the past with previous generals, lieutenants, colonels, and soldiers, it wasn't, at all, pleasant. Volkov remembered witnessing a callous punishment executed by Ivan to a soldier who accidentally fired his rifle off. This level of vex was just the start of an all out wrath. "Besides, East Germany is pretty weakened at the moment. What could he and his people possibly do to us?"

Ivan scoffed darkly and chuckled as he paused in front of Volkov. "Well, it seems that you and Stalin don't know the East Germans very well now, do you?" Ivan's eyes bore into Volkov's like keen knives, complete seriousness and irk simmered in the purple iris. After a few moments of silence swept through the two men, Ivan spoke with a giggle.

"Tell me, lieutenant," Ivan began to smile again as he broke his stare from Volkov's and walked over to his desk that faced the window, "have you ever seen a wolf attack free-roaming sheep?"

Volkov blinked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty, his lips quivered with a glower and an irritated snort slipped out of his throat. He didn't want to hear another one Ivan's foolish, childish stories. "I don't have time to listen to another one of your stupid stor-"

"Have you?!" Ivan interrupted, his voice sounded like the bark of a fearsome hound. Volkov could see that Ivan was still smiling psychotically after his roar of an outburst. His hands were placed flat on the desk, he was reading a document he was finishing up earlier. There was a long silence, then Volkov sighed in frustration.

"No, sir..." Volkov mumbled in impatience, crossing his arms and slouching his leg slightly. Ivan glanced at Volkov, an untroubled expression washed over his face. "Then you'd better listen closely, lieutenant." He said cautiously, he turned to face Volkov completely. The lieutenant rolled his cobalt eyes and uncrossed his arms slowly and straightened his stature. He was ready to listen.

Ivan's smile decreased a bit before he opened his mouth to speak. "There was once a pack of wolves who loved the taste of blood on their tongues. They loved all kinds of blood. Rabbits, deer, squirrels, foxes, and boars. But their favorite flavor of blood was that of a sheep. It was perfect, luscious and exciting on their mouths. It soothed their hungering stomachs with its rich tang." Ivan said in a sing-song voice, Volkov rolled his eyes again and silently sighed as Ivan continued.

"However, such blood was difficult to acquire, even the smallest drop. For sheep roamed free in their fields, free to run as fast and as far and as long as their little hooves could go. But that wasn't the only problem for the wolves. There was the shepherd, who watched his flock everyday on the top of the hill, guarding his precious covey from the lurking predators. But as the years went by, the shepherd grew old and frail, unable to watch his sheep. So, he built a fence around the small field, keeping the sheep inside with no way out. The fence was too high for the sheep to hop and too sturdy to break through. The wolves then took the opportunity to savor what they so desperately wanted."

Volkov found himself staring intently at Ivan, raising an eyebrow in interest. After Ivan paused, Volkov spoke. "Continue..."

The purple in his eyes became much colder. "Gladly." Ivan picked up the paper on the desk and began writing on it, most likely applying a response to the sender. "After filling their bellies with the luscious meat and blood and carpeting the grassy ground with wool and flesh, the shepherd came out of his house and ran to the pen. There, he found what was left of his flock. But he didn't know that the wolves were still hungry." Ivan finished his response on the paper and closed his pen. "The wolves eyed the shepherd, noticing how weak the human was. Then, they wondered...what would a human taste like on our tongues?"

Ivan glanced back to Volkov who now had a slight smirk on his lips. "So...you're saying that East Germany will only truly fall and permanently become a part of Russia if we cut his country and people off from the rest of the world and his sister?" Volkov asked, a strange interest stretched over his tone. Ivan gave a curt nod and began shuffling together the papers on his desk. "Not only that, lieutenant, but to also have a chance at scoring a bonus." Ivan projected, narrowing his eyes in greed. Volkov furrowed his brows in confusion. "Sir?" Before Ivan could explain, he was interrupted by a ringing.

Brrrrriiiiinggg! The telephone on Ivan's desk rang out loudly, the ear and handset vibrated on its holder. Both men glanced at it. Brrrrriiiinggg! Ivan took his papers in one hand and used his free hand to answer the call. He picked up the handset with a gloved hand and placed it up to his ear, flipping and reading over his papers in case he missed any signatures or replies. "What is it?" Ivan asked in an irritated tone, his eyes wandering left to right on his handwriting.

After a few seconds, Ivan's eyes paused in their place. Looking up, he set his papers down. "Oh, is she?" Ivan raised an attentive eyebrow, a smirk danced onto his pale lips, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. Volkov watched in heed, crossing his arms once more. "Well then, I will be right over." The Russian country placed the handset down on its stand, ending the call and making the bell on the inside ting.

"Now what?" Volkov asked in curiosity and irritation, his icy eyes fixed on Ivan. The Russian country adjusted his lengthy scarf and the hat on his head, and turned towards the door. "It seems my little Nazi is causing a bit of trouble at the medical building. I'm going to go and straighten things out with her. I don't need one of my doctors losing a limb or two." Ivan smiled deviously as he left Volkov in his office.

 

 

 

The bottle of alcohol shattered on the opposite wall just a foot above the cowering doctor's head who was crouched against the same wall, whimpering in a ball of terror. Splintering and beading down the stone, the clear liquid and glass shards dribbled over the shaking human, the air immediately fuming with the sharp smell of alcohol and chemicals. You stood against the cold, concrete wall, clutching your chest wound with one clenched hand, blood oozed over the gaps of your fingers. You were hunched over with your feet far apart to keep yourself from falling forward. Your hair curtained your face, hiding your furious furrowed brows and gritted teeth. The burning alcohol singed deep into your slash, causing it to blaze with sting and prickle with hurt. It felt like a bomb exploded deep within your rib cage and continued to detonate throughout your upper body. Waves and waves of pain pulsed through your chest, showing no signs of cease.

The only sound that could be heard in the medical room was the distressing shutters of fear coming from the doctor and the small grunts of agony that hissed out of your throat. Your eyes watered heavily, not out of pain, but because of the bright, white ceiling light that was almost blinding to look at. It completely annoyed you though your eyes were squeezed shut. You could feel the artificial light beating down on your head. It was so bright. So overwhelming. You wanted to get out of this room. Though you were brought out of the interrogation room for a few hours to sign the annexation contract, the break was not long enough to enjoy. It felt so relieving to be out of that room, however you felt quite ashamed by it. You felt that you didn't deserve the release or the freedom. Though if you disagreed to hand yourself over right then and there, Ivan would have executed Gilbert with a flick of his wrist.

You felt that you were beginning to develop a slight claustrophobia from the eight days that you spent in the interrogation room. There was no one else in the room and the constant brooding for Gilbert picked at your brain like a crow. Banging on the wall with the code had almost became an obsession in the compact room. Getting out of the room felt like a bitter bliss. It was a strange relief. After signing the contract, you were still treated like a war prisoner, but you were allowed to shower and sleep in the interrogation room for the night. And later, you would be able to redress into your new clothes after your...medical attention, which started only a few minutes earlier. The clothes were quite similar to your usual long, black trench coat, and black, tight-fitting turtleneck and pants, and new sturdy combat boots. You didn't know how to feel about it, whether it was just or selfish of you to accept the odd comfort.

However, you weren't dressed from your waist up, only wearing your tight fitting pants and boots. Since your legs, thighs, and feet were completely undamaged, the doctor allowed you to wear the pants and boots after seeing that they were untouched. Your upper body was another story. Everything was exposed, bare, and painfully bleeding. No shirt, no bra, no coverings. Blood streamed down your chest and stomach slowly, streaking the clean skin. Your arms were littered with a few minor cuts that already formed scabs, but they still needed some sort of medical attention. You felt humiliated, not wearing anything to cover your feminine parts from the doctor. It was definitely uncomfortable and embarrassing for a goddamn Ruski doctor to see your naked upper body. _Disgraceful._  You thought, placing your other arm over your breasts, hiding their exposure.

You began to shiver from the waves of pain that rippled on your torso and the cold air that discharged the room. You slid down the wall and sat down, tucking your knees up to your arm-covered chest with your back pressed against the cold concrete. You opened your eyes and glared over at the doctor who was still crouched in a ball against the opposite wall, whimpering like a beaten dog. _At least I'm not the only one who looks pathetic..._  You thought as the stinging pain in your chest began to vanish.

After a few long, sob filled minutes, your (e/c) eyes widened as the lock to the door clicked. Someone was coming in. Your arms covered as much of your chest as they could, not wanting anyone else to see you like this, especially Ivan. The door swung open and two soldiers entered the room, rifles drawn and on guard. They immediately stood on either side of the door. You clenched your jaw as you saw Ivan enter the room with his usual fucking smile. You turned your face to the side, away from Ivan, not wanting to see him lay his eyes upon you. Your eyes narrowed into a hateful glare, a blush of anger simmered like boiling hot water across your cheeks. You couldn't tell if you had gone white or red at the moment, whether you were angry or embarrassed. Maybe a good mixture of both.

You heard Ivan chuckle and laugh slightly. He was probably looking at you now. The tips of your ears began to burn like fire from the humiliation. "Leave us." Ivan said, and you heard the shuffling of boots leave the room. The door slammed shut and tumbled, locked. You were now sealed in the room with the doctor once more, not only that, but Ivan too. You refused to look or even glance at him. "Good morning, (y/n)." Ivan said brightly, obviously taking all the pleasure to speak to you in the mortifying moment. "Sleep well?"

You didn't answer the taunt, saying anything to him would only encourage him to mock you even further. Ivan tittered once more after a few moments of your expected silence. "What seems to be the problem, Dr. Smirnov." Ivan asked the doctor in Russian with a small sigh, talking as if you weren't there.

You heard the doctor rise to his feet quickly, stumbling against the supporting wall. He was breathing uneasily, his voice shook slightly as he explained. "I was trying to work on the lesion on her chest, but it seems to be too painful to apply alcohol or any treatment, sir. It's so incredibly infected... She...got a little upset when I applied alcohol."

You glared over at the doctor with irritation. He immediately winced from your harsh glower. Ivan chuckled. "Is that so?" Ivan said, he began to walk towards you. You tensed up when he was just a few, small steps away from you. "Well, do you have any other approaches, Smirnov?" Ivan asked the doctor, sounding impatient. You could tell that Ivan wasn't in the mood to deal with you today, that he had more important things to worry about.

The doctor hesitated, then glanced at you, seeing that you were listening. "...May we speak outside, sir?" Smirnov asked in a nervous mumble. The question made your stomach knot and brain fester with negative ponder. Whatever the doctor wanted to discuss with the Ruski was probably something he didn't want you to hear. "Of course." Ivan said through his smirk. Just like that, Ivan turned on his heel, knocked on the door, and left with the doctor. The door locked as soon as it was closed. There was no doubt that you were going to be restrained somehow when Ivan and the doctor came back.

You definitely didn't like the idea of being held down while receiving medical treatment, especially if it was going to be this painful. You remembered the times where you stepped on some glass or a sewing needle as a child and Gilbert would have to hold you down as he took the shards out of your bare foot. You didn't cry, but you thrashed around quite a bit. You nearly kicked Gilbert in the jaw when he took out he largest fragment of glass. Of course you apologized to Gilbert for your behavior afterwards and he would usually smile, saying that it was alright. However, he had teased you later on in the years about it. It wasn't something you wanted other people to hear about. You wished that you could apply the alcohol yourself, but the doctor refused. And applying it yourself would take up a lot of time. He said that the cut wouldn't need stitches, just a lot of disinfectants and bandages.

Several long minutes went by. Maybe thirty minutes. Your brain continued to ponder what they were discussing. It caused you to stir a bit from the growing impatience. Your eyes watered from the bright light that beamed to every corner of the medical room. The torment that emitted from the slash was nearly numb. You kept your arms crossed over your chest and breasts, careful not to uncover anything. You glanced over at your new trench coat and turtleneck that were patiently waiting on the counter next to the sink. Not wanting to ruin the new clothes, you resisted getting up and putting them on though none of your blood would show up on the black fabric. You were quite cold and exposed and pulling on the clothes would be so relieving.

Suddenly, the door sounded like it was being unlocked. You tucked your knees tighter, ready to deal with the doctor's 'approach'. You heard the door open, but no one entered. You turned your head to the door. No one was there. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _What is this?_  You thought, alerting your body to stay on guard, ready to strike at any threat that was about to enter the room.

After a few seconds, something was thrown into the room in a flash. The door slammed shut and locked. You jumped to your feet as it bounced off the examination table and skittered onto the floor, sliding to the middle of the room. The object looked like an elongated can with a small nozzle on one of the ends. A thick, white gas began to fume out of it. Your eyes widened and you gritted your teeth in panic. _Fuck!_ You thought as the gas dispersed into the room. Sleeping gas, no doubt about it. You recognized the gas can with such ease. You covered your nose and mouth with one hand as you ran to one of the corners of the room. The room was filling up with the white, smokey gas.

Your vision began to get fuzzy as the gas reached the ceiling. It was difficult to see as your arms and legs began to tremble, threatening to fall asleep. The door was the only way out. You began to panic as the gas reached your face. You held your breath even though your hand covered your mouth and nose. You would have to breath sometime and gas can fumes could emit gases for several minutes. You let yourself slump down to the ground against the wall, your arms and legs growing weak. Your lungs were beginning to feel dense and clogged. You couldn't hold your breath for much longer.

You did not expect the Soviets to have the sleeping gas in their possession. Better yet, you didn't expect them to use the sleeping gas as an attempt to knock you out to work on your injuries. With the sleeping gas, a person would be out for several hours, maybe days with no consciousness. It frightened you. This was another reason why you were such an insomniac. You've always been afraid to fall alseep for too long because of threats. And now, you wouldn't be able to tell what was going to happen to you while you were out, because of the gas. The damn Russian could transport you to another location, farther away from Gilbert. He could torture your unconscious body and remove body parts. Rape was even a possibility. Hell, anything was possible while you slept unwillingly.

Agitation erupted out of you as your vision was completely blurred out, your mouth and lungs sucked in the gas. It smelled strange, almost like some sort of plastic. It was making your head spin and feel light headed. You coughed as the gas invaded your lungs and traveled throughout your body. Everything was getting dark, even the intense light in the room. _Don't you fucking dare fall asleep!_  You screamed internally, trepidation exploding into your brain. Your body was shutting down. _No....no..._  Your eyelids fluttered closed as the prolonged sleep engulfed you, unable to jerk awake.

 

 

 

Ivan stepped into the medical room after working in his office for many hours. It was seven o' clock in the afternoon, about time for him to head back to the capital to rest. He thought it would be nice to check up on you after your injuries were treated. He strode up to the examination table where you lay there, unconscious with a blindfold wrapped tightly around your head, completely sightless and vulnerable. His eyes wondered to your chest, which was wrapped with white bandages from the mid-stomach to the neck, covering you entire torso. Your arms were concealed with bandages as well, but splotches of red blossomed through the ivory cloth. The steady rise and fall of your chest conveyed Ivan that you were still in your deep slumber, unaware that Ivan was standing beside you.

His eyes swept over your entire body, taking note of how incredibly small you were. He almost mistook you for a child when he walked into the room. He was surprised at how lean you were. He had heard that you had the strength to smash bones into fragments and the brawn to crack a skull open. But he couldn't believe that such unrelenting power was within a petite, slim body. And the fact that you were a member of the Germanic family made you quite divergent from your brothers. Ivan knew that Ludwig and Gilbert were quite muscular and strict with their athleticism and physical appearance, but you looked like you had never exercised once in your life. But looks weren't deceiving to Ivan.

Gently, Ivan extended his arm and took a small lock of your (h/l), (h/c) hair between his gloved fingers, stroking it delicately to the ends of the strands. It was almost an award for Ivan to get this close to you and actually be able to touch you without the need for restraints. An odd smile spread across Ivan's lips. He felt so powerful looming over your comatose body, able to do what he wanted with you at this point. So many possible things he could do to you while you slept heavily. He could keep you in the medical ward for the night or send you to another location. He could gain a payback for his bruised lip and jaw. _No._  He thought, his smile widening as the doctor entered the room.

"She will be out for several more hours, Mr. Braginski. The sleeping gas will wear off by tomorrow morning." Smirnov said as he approached the examination table, picking up the silver tray of used, surgical tools that rested by your head. "But I can't keep her here for the night. I have several more patients to attend to in this room." Smirnov turned his head to Ivan as he placed the tray onto the counter to clean.

"I understand, Smirnov." Ivan lifted his head, smiling at the doctor. Ivan walked around the examination table and approached your new trench coat and turtleneck. "I was going to escort her to the capital for the night anyways." He picked up the long coat, opened it up, and draped it over your insensible body. He pushed your body upwards and tucked the coat under you, only your head was outside of the overwhelming fabric. Gathering the turtleneck in the crease of his arm, Ivan carefully scooped you up off the icy table. Ivan raised an eyebrow. You were so light in his arms. He felt like he was holding a figure made of paper.

Ivan walked around the examination table and strode towards the door. "Thank you very much, Smirnov." Ivan mumbled darkly, not looking back at the busy doctor. "Your work has been most appreciated by the Union." As Ivan sauntered down the dark hallway towards the exit of the medical ward, he looked down at your limp, blinded frame. He felt his gloomy, purple eyes fill with a sort of envy and lust. Ivan couldn't help but giggle at his future actions. "This will be quite fun." He whispered in a sing-song tone to you as you slept profoundly, completely unaware of the following events of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 700 hits! Thank you guys so much! How are you guys enjoying the fic so far? These next few chapters are going to keep getting more and more intense. Now that I'm on summer break, there will be weekly updates! :D Enjoy the chapters to come!


	9. Degradation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so...there's going to be a lot of 'stuff' going on in this chapter. You guys have no idea how awkward it was for me to type all of the detail. I had to stop many times, because of how embarrassing it was. But thank you guys so much for the hits, kudos, and comments! I love you guys! Enjoy!

After laying you down on the bed with great tenderness, Ivan took off his hat, set it down on the nightstand, and switched off the small, mellow lamp. Immediately, the room was swept up by shadow. Ivan's eyes adjusted to the dark with ease. The only lights that illuminated the bedroom were the street lamps from outside, which produced little light themselves. The freezing, autumn wind whirled outside, howling its prolonged, indistinct tune. Ivan could just make out the streams of snowflakes and dust in the icy gales that passed the tall window. Pulling off his leather gloves, Ivan quietly pulled the thin, white curtains of the lofty window shut.

It was late, almost eleven o' clock. The building was silent and dark, devoid of any activity. Ivan usually slept and lived in the capital building when he was on working months and only returned to his home when the government didn't need him. Other than that, the structure was busily occupied by Union officials at day and Ivan at night. The only noise that could be picked up was the typical creaking of the wind against the outside walls and the changing temperature. The bedroom was cozy, a bit stuffy from the many fireplaces that heated the entire structure though there was no fireplace in the room. Walking back over to the large, queen sized bed, Ivan set his gloves down on the nightstand next to his hat. He sat down on the side of the bed, just a few inches away from where you lay.

His purple eyes glanced at you lazily for a few moments before he began pulling off his boots. He undressed quickly, but leisurely, only leaving on his pants, not wanting to entirely expose himself too soon. He had plenty of time on his hands and he was in no rush to begin his retribution. Ivan wanted it to be carried out beautifully and thoroughly. Taking his clothes and scarf in his hands, he folded them neatly and placed them on the floor next to his boots. With half-lidded eyes, Ivan looked down at your slumbering body that was still wrapped in your new trench coat. You hadn't stirred at all, the only movement that you produced was your steady breathing. Your eyes were covered with the ivory blindfold. Ivan remembered Smirnov telling him that the blindfold would keep alcoholic fumes and liquid from seeping into your eyes while you slept. But another reason would be to keep you disoriented if you woke up, hopefully to make you think that you were still drugged. However, Ivan knew that you were far too smart to believe that.

Your (h/l), (h/c) hair pooled underneath your head which rested on a pillow. Your lips were parted just enough for Ivan to see your milky, white teeth. He soon found himself running his thumb over the soft, pink flesh, feeling small, faint breathes of warm air streaming over the tip of his thumb. A strange feeling of excitement knotted into Ivan's stomach as he continued to rub your bottom lip. He began smiling wickedly into the darkness. He could never get this close to you without the need for restraints or soldiers to hold you back. It felt like a relief to him to finally touch you without his gloves on, skin on skin. And now he was alone with you, free to do as he wished while you were out. And he knew that no matter what he did, no matter how much damage he inflicted, no matter what pain capacity, you wouldn't wake up or fight back.

Slowly, with both of his hands, Ivan tugged and then pealed the trench coat off of you, exposing your half naked body. Your arms covered in bandages as well as your chest, keeping your breasts hidden from him. It was a bit of a disappointment to him, not being able to see your entire body, but he needed you to be in good condition for the events next week. Carefully, he tore and removed some of the bandages, only exposing your neck and upper chest, not your mid chest and breasts. He stood up, tossed the coat to the floor, and began to untie your calf-length, laced boots. Pulling them off and dropping them to the floor, Ivan sat back down on the bed. His large hands glided down your sides at a steady pace, following the curves that shaped your body. Your (s/c) skin was surprisingly soft on Ivan's fingertips. He raised an eyebrow in amazement. He expected more scars and rough ridges on your body, because of your battled and brutal history. But he remembered that it was nearly impossible to injure you, even a small scratch was an impractical victory. Nothing could touch you until recently. And now.

Ivan moved his entire body onto the bed, looming his enormous, masculine figure over yours. He still couldn't get over how incredibly small you were to him and how you had the physical appearance of twenty years. You were a child under him. Gently, Ivan laid himself on you, feeling your warm skin against his. You didn't stir at all, no movement twitched out of you. He placed his face in the crook of your neck and held onto your sides with his strong arms. He began licking, sucking, and nibbling on the sensitive flesh, tasting the flavor of your skin on his tongue. Still, no activity arose from you. Ivan could feel his erection pulsing in his pants, it was becoming more and more uncomfortable for him to move.

He started biting down on your neck and jaw line, pausing every once in a while to see how deep and colorful the teeth marks were. He smirked smugly as small, black, red, and purple patches blossomed and bloomed around your neck, jawline, shoulders, and collarbones. He could see the bruised, circular bite marks popping onto your flesh as he continued his work. Though they were quite deep, Ivan didn't bite down hard enough to draw blood, which was what he was hoping for. But he was quite content with the outcome. Ivan giggled aloud at the thought of calling you a Dalmatian or a fawn with the many blemishes on your torso, a very childish thing of him to ponder about in the situation. He wasn't very fond of you wearing a turtleneck as part of your uniform. No one would be able to see the masterpiece of spots that he left on your skin. It would bring you such angering humiliation to walk around with your neck exposed while soldiers and Union officials laughed, snickered, and teased at you. Ivan craved that fantasy.

After a few more lazy bites, Ivan sat himself up on his knees with your body still underneath him, his breath labored and heavy. His erection was becoming too painful to conceal. Slipping one hand into his pants, he readjusted himself, grunted, and then took his hand out. He had much more work to endure before he allowed himself to capitulate his physical lust. After undoing the buttons to your pants, Ivan pulled them down, peeling the tight, black fabric off of your legs. He threw them off of the bed, landing them onto your coat in a pile. Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, Ivan felt a light sweat building onto his forehead. He grunted softly at himself.

This wasn't the first time Ivan has had sex, in fact, he was definitely familiar with the process. It wasn't at all new to him. He had many liaisons in the past with numerous women, most of which were from his own country. But many of the partnerships didn't last very long, because of countless reasons. Though all of them were human, aging wasn't one of the factors. Ivan never had a relationship that lasted more than a year. His last sexual encounter occurred a little time before the killing of the Romanovs. Ivan had to admit, he wasn't very good at keeping a woman with him, but it wasn't something he was deeply concerned about. He couldn't remember most of the women, because of how short the relationships were. It would start out just fine for the first few weeks, but then Ivan would get caught up in work and never see the girl again. One of them even had the nerve to scold him and shout before she stormed out of his office. "You care more about your government and power than one of your own people."

Of course Ivan worked up a furious rage afterwards, bashing furniture and other objects with his tap or his fists, and after a few heavy drinks, he'd forget about her. But the words would still thump around in his head until he smiled deviously with his purple eyes narrowing darkly. _You're right. I do care more about my power. Then, you will see the capabilities I will have. The strength. The dominance. The potential. You'll see._  And soon after that, the Romanovs were murdered and the Russian Revolution erupted into communism. It's quite amazing that personal events, major or little, have great tolls on countries. One twist of an emotion could drastically change the people and the government.

Ivan bit his lip as his fingertips caressed the smooth, soft texture of the outside of your thighs. Though it had been so long since he had sex, almost 27 years, Ivan kept himself as relaxed as possible. But most of the reason why he was so tantalized and excited was, because of who the person in his bed was. You. (Country name). The most powerful force in the entire world who was defined as impossible to conquer. And here you were. In Ivan's bed, nearly naked, unconscious, and vulnerable. Ivan put one knee between your legs, spreading them just enough for him to work with. His hands traced the skin of your inner thighs, getting dangerously close to your vital regions. Steadily, Ivan pressed his fingers forward, feeling just how wet you were.

He tsked and then grunted angrily. You weren't at all wet, even when he pushed one finger inside. "Defiant, little rat." Ivan snapped in a hushed voice, glaring down at you with his eyebrows furrowed in a nettled expression. He was so sure that you would become aroused in your sleep and produce some sort of lubricant. But he was just looking forward to watching you become aroused from his touch. Ivan would take great pleasure and joy in mocking you in the future about how you became 'excited' in your comatose. But it seemed now that it would never happen. Ivan shook his head in frustration as he slipped his index finger out of you, sat himself back, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled his member out with one hand. Lubed or not, he was still going to go on with his objective. His thumb rubbed the tip of his penis, he shuttered quietly as pre-cum leaked out excessively.

Ivan was quite large, about eight inches in length. He wasn't incredibly large, just bigger than the average. After all, he was Russia. Rubbing the liquid around his entire member, making it slick enough, Ivan moaned quietly. It had been too long. After a minute of stroking himself, Ivan positioned himself inches above you. His broad chest just reaching your head, your thighs resting over his. Propping himself on one hand, he took his member in the other hand and slowly pushed the tip inside of you. Ivan gritted his teeth and hissed out a deep groan. "God, you're tight." He grunted in his Russian tongue, his toes crinkled from the narrow grip on his tip. Ivan wasn't even sure if he could get himself all the way in. He took his hand off of his member, helping to keep himself from falling on you, which would cause further damage to your injuries. After a minute passed, he pushed himself in further, gradually slipping himself inside of you. He growled a few times, but he felt the muscle becoming less and less intense around him. His entire body was covered in a light sweat and his breathing became much heavier.

Finally, he was all the way in, but he had to wait. You were still too tight around him and moving would only make it painful for him. About a minute passed and Ivan slowly pulled himself halfway out. Carefully, he pushed himself back in, easing the firm grip on his member. He bit his lip at the unbelievable amount of sensitivity on him. If he wasn't cautious, he would end up finishing earlier than he wanted. He wanted this to last most of the night or at least until he was satisfied with his work. Ivan thrust gently at first, feeling the damp muscle rub against his penis. Gradually, you were producing a bit of lubrication yourself. Ivan smirk smugly, thrusting a bit harder as your own pre-cum leaked and gushed out of you. You didn't stir, but Ivan could see your breathing increase by the way your chest rose and fell. He started hearing squelching from where the two of you were connected. Picking up the pace, Ivan thrust faster, sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down onto the pillow.

Faster. Harder. Ivan's senses whirled as his body devoured the physical pleasure that consumed him. However, his mind was somewhere else, pondering. He couldn't believe what he was doing at the moment. He thought he was in some sort of hallucination, a dream that could never come true, something he could never accomplish. Gritting his teeth, a sudden burst of hatred and animosity flooded his system. He thrust with a tremendous amount of force as he felt his climax drawing near. But he wanted it to last longer. He would go two times...no, a dozen times. He wanted this to be a sweet, fulfilling revenge. Was it jealousy? Was it abhorrence? Ivan couldn't tell what he was feeling, but it was definitely an ugly, horrific emotion. He wanted you to feel this pain, mentally and physically. He desired you to crumble under him, pleading, begging for your life, your freedom, your salvation. Betraying your brothers, betraying your people, betraying yourself. He wanted to see it with his own eyes and not his traitorous thoughts.

He hated you, envied you. He remembered the way he stared at you in the courtroom and in the muddy ruins of Berlin, desiring for the eradication that you had. He yearned your power, your abilities, wanted them, begrudged them. Ivan remembered all of the blood that was spilled in the streets of Stalingrad. So much strength. So much gore. The metallic smell of blood still lingered his memory. It almost haunted him. His own people, silenced from the small country that lay before him. Ivan thrust violently into you, pulling all the way in and all the way out aggressively. He grunted angrily with every thrust, his expression raged with detest. Fire burned and singed in his eyes as he glared down at you with an unbelievable amount of hostility, his lower lip quivered. Ivan didn't even notice the salty tears that were rolling down his face. He hated you for Stalingrad. He hated you for the massacre of his people. He hated you for the invasion of his country. He hated you for existing. He hated you.

Ivan sighed and squeezed his eyes shut as his orgasm washed over him, his member pulsing inside of you. His semen draining into you. Ivan's mind blurred for a few moments, erasing his envious ponders and enmity. The release was so sudden, ripping him straight from his vexed thoughts and dropping him into a strange relief. It was such a rapture. Ivan sat himself up and gazed down at you, the final image giving him great satisfaction. He chuckled, happy with his work. Carefully, he pulled himself out of you, put his member back into his pants, and buttoned them. He touched his face, feeling the hot, wet tears on his cheeks. He giggled again, softly. "Silly me." He whispered, wiping them off with the back of his hand as if nothing emotional happened. "I got a little carried away, didn't I?"

He got off of the bed and reached down, picking up his lengthy, white scarf. He wrapped it around his neck and let it hang loosely on his shoulders. Never would he let anyone see that part of him. Never.

Tiredly, Ivan picked you up with one, strong arm and slid you under the blankets, still limp like a dead deer. "I don't want you to get sick before your performance. It would be a big disappointment for me and Mr. Stalin, da milaya?" He said with his usual smile, calling you the childish name that you disgusted so much. Of course there was no response from you, but Ivan imagined that you would slap him across the jaw with a great amount of force, possibly breaking it. After petting your hair delicately, Ivan walked around the bed and got onto the other side, slipping under the covers. Taking a hold of your waist, Ivan turned you on your side and pulled you closer to him, spooning your small body. Breathing into your (h/l), (h/c) hair, he smiled dementedly with poison in his amethyst eyes. He growled at you lowly as he spoke. "Goodnight my little Nazi. I hate you."

 

 

 

 

Ivan's eyes fuzzed and blinked open as morning light dawned through the curtained window of the bedroom. He could see the shadows of the tiny snowflakes that fell delicately past the glass. He sighed happily, his arm tightened around you... You weren't there. All that his arm felt was the blindfold, which was untied and stretched. Ivan's heart lurched for moment before he heard shuffling on the other side of him. He turned over and saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, your back to him. You were dressed in your black trench coat, tight pants, and turtle neck, nearly fully clothed. Ivan mumbled a curse mentally, because of the turtleneck that concealed the hickeys around your upper body and neck. You were hunched over, finishing the laces to your boots. Your hair was a bit messy, almost like a bedhead look with stray, stressed strands of (h/l), (h/c) hair.

Ivan smiled conceitedly, relaxing a bit. He filled himself with pride and self-satisfaction as his mind skimmed over the events that happen last night. He was a bit surprised that you didn't attempt to damage him while he slept. "Good morning." He said boastfully as he propped his angled elbow and rested his head in his hand. His eyes became a lighter shade of purple.

No reply. After a few seconds, you finished tying your boots, and stood up. You didn't look or turn in Ivan's direction, not allowing Ivan to see your face. You walked towards the door of the adjoining bathroom. He presumed that you were most likely going to brush your hair or take a shower. "How did you sleep?" Ivan asked trying to sound naive, his smile widening. You grabbed the knob to the door, twisted it, and opened it. You stormed inside the bathroom and slammed the door behind you, hard. The two small, framed pictures on the wall next to the bathroom door shook. Both of them fell off of their hooks and shattered on the wooden floor. Broken glass and wood pieces splintered into a pile.

Ivan's eyes narrowed in fulfillment and his innocent smile turned into an immoral leer. He laid back down, staring at the ceiling, preening himself as he ran his fingers through his messy beige hair. "Typical." He mumbled.

 

 

 

After shutting the door with a great amount of force, you pressed your back against it, sliding down the wood until you were sitting on the tile floor. Your legs stretched out slowly and your arms stayed limp at your sides. Your face and ears were hot, singing with anger and hate. Misty tears threatened to fall from your glassy eyes. You aggressively wiped them away with your sleeve before they escaped your waterline, as if the salty liquid was some sort of acid or poisonous bleach. "What even is dignity...?" You whispered in a hissing tone, gritting your teeth. You knew exactly what happened last night. Your hands balled into fists, your teeth biting deep into the black fabric of your sleeve.

Your loathing for Ivan nearly reached its limit, but it wasn't enough to make you slip into a void of fury. Sex was something that couldn't affect you physically and it was not possible for a country to become pregnant. But it was also a deficiency, fragility, and an embarrassment to your reputation. Letting yourself get gassed and then raped by a fucking Russian.The Russian. Ivan Braginski. And now there was a part of him inside of you and he had taken a part of you; a part of you that was impossible to recapture. There was no doubt that he would gossip or brag about the incident with other countries. _What will Ludwig and Gilbert think when they hear about it...?_ You thought, your throat felt tight and strained from the silent rage that radiated from your form. Honestly, you couldn't conclude on how your brothers would react to it. Disappointed? Outraged? Vindictive?

_What could He be thinking right now?_

_Don't fucking cry._  You screamed internally as your hands slapped to your forehead and scalp, grappling your hair with your fingers. You sank your nails into the flesh of your scalp, an attempt to keep you from sobbing. _Don't fucking cry._  You dug your nails deeper as the tears quietly streamed down your cheeks, your bottom lip and chin trembled. It started to hurt. _D-don't...fucking...cry..._

 

 

 

Three days later, 7:30 PM

Toris winced at the accidental cut he made on his finger. "Damn." He hissed, dropping the cutting knife onto the cutting board that was covered in slices of carrots. He held his finger with his other hand. Already, blood oozed out from the opening. "What's wrong?" Eduard asked looking over at Toris as he was dicing raw meat. Picking up the hand towel next to him, Toris quickly wrapped his finger with it and applied pressure.

"Nothing, Eduard. Just cut myself, that's all." Toris assured him, glancing with a relieving smile. "The knife I'm using is a little sharp." Eduard returned the smile and tittered abruptly in his throat, but he hesitated before he continued to cut the uncooked pork. Toris turned around, leaned his back against the kitchen counter, and stared down at his finger, treating it.

"What's on your mind?" Eduard whispered almost inaudibly, pushing his glasses further up his nose with the back of his hand. Toris glanced up at Eduard with his tired, olive eyes. "Hm?"

"You've been very out of it lately. You're not eating and sleeping as much as you were a few weeks ago." Eduard said quietly, placing the meat cleaver down and scooping up handfuls of the diced meat, plopping them into the cooking pot. "I just thought something was up."

"I don't know." Toris shrugged a bit, shaking his head slightly. Eduard noticed the way Toris's eyes depressed. "I guess it's because of Gilbert. He still has a fever and it hasn't gone down at all. I've been giving him medicine and hot soup to stop it, but nothing has helped." Toris removed the small hand towel from his finger, seeing that it stopped bleeding. He turned back to the counter and tossed the towel next to the carrot covered cutting board.

"Should we call a doctor?" Eduard asked, furrowing his brows in worry. "Ivan will be returning home for a few days in the next couple of weeks. And if Gilbert doesn't show signs of physical progress, there will punishments for us." Toris nodded and hummed in agreement. Picking up the knife and slicing the unfinished carrot, Toris replied to Eduard. "I'll call for a doctor first thing tomorrow morning. It's much too late to make a telephone call now."

They both went silent for a bit, continuing to make dinner for the evening. There wasn't much to talk about...well, anything that was to talk about was either depressing or war related. Not a lot of good news would come to them, because they were under Soviet government, unable to control what happened to their people and land. Though the end of the war brought great joy to most of Europe, the conclusions of war usually brought up new objectives, plans, and wills. Russia, for example, was gaining in land and power, his military growing and multiplying by the minute. And now that he had you in his Union, there was a lot of panic between most countries, especially America. Ever since he heard about the incident by, supposedly, American spies, Alfred had become very alarmed. He never thought that something like this would happen. The Baltics received all of the chaotic news from Ivan through phone call, sounding as smug as ever, and the government newspaper.

Toris didn't know how to respond when he got the disclosure from Ivan. In his thoughts, he was frightened, his stomach knotted and his skin prickled with thousands of goosebumps. He felt like he was about to vomit out of fear, because of the announcement. He just couldn't believe it. Toris remembered hesitating before speaking in a faked, delighted voice, telling Ivan that it was splendid news and that he would immediately inform the other two Baltics. Then, Ivan snickered darkly on the other end, grabbing Toris's attention. "Now listen to me very carefully, Toris. I don't want a word of this spoken to Gilbert. I would like to tell him myself or there will be consequences."

Toris knew exactly why and obeyed the Russian's orders without uncertainty. But it was just sickening to Toris, how disgusting Ivan could be towards a weakened country...well, territory. Then, Ivan took great pleasure in bragging about how he had Alfred scared like a rabbit in a cage. Boasting that with his new 'weapon country', he could easily dominate America in every course, whether it was power, military, education, science, you name it. After congratulating the Russian country and hanging up, Toris couldn't hold down his lunch any longer and he sprinted to the bathroom, throwing up everything that he ate that day. Like a loyal dog, Toris later told Eduard and Raivis of the horrifying news during afternoon tea, but kept the conversation sounding upbeat and pleasant. Soldiers were constantly on their watch, listening to nearly every conversation.

The Baltics didn't have the freedom to talk their opinions and minds to each other about the corruption of their government. The colossal house was constantly watched by Red soldiers, always on guard and ready to overhear any conversation between the three countries. Fifteen soldiers would stay in the enormous house on the inside, up and downstairs. Twenty stood outside on every side of the house, patrolling constantly, guns and ears alert. One small rumor or gossip and there would immediately be a punishment, most of the time by Ivan himself. However, at night, the soldiers go back to their quarters behind the manor to sleep and would have only two guards outside in the cold, keeping watch. Because the Russian weather was so deadly, the soldiers knew that any escape would be suicide...and they were right about that. But there would be no way for them to hear inside conversations from the outside with all of the deafening wind. It was one of the only freedoms the Baltics had and they were silently grateful for it.

Toris glanced at the small, metal clock that sat on the far side of the counter. In just ten minutes, the Baltics would be alone inside the house, free to whisper their minds at the dinning room table. Eduard turned away from the stove and began taking out four white, ceramic bowls from the large, wooden cupboard. He walked out of the kitchen with the bowls balancing in his arms, going into the dining room. Toris quickly put on mitts and picked up the pot full of stew by its handles, carefully carrying it out to the dinning room. The room was incredibly large, vast, and rich in both color and class. A massive, glass chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, sparkling with yellow light from its electric bulbs. The mahogany table was lengthy, measuring several meters long with dozens of empty chairs. A creamy, white tablecloth covered every inch of the table top. The walls were a maroon, floral pattern decorated with variously sized paintings, shelves, plates, and mirrors.

Raivis was already sitting at the one of the ends of the table where they usually sat for dinner. His blue eyes glanced up at Toris with a sort of anxiousness. Toris knew that Raivis always got excited near the end of the day, because the soldiers would retire for the night, allowing him to at least whisper his thoughts. Raivis often called these secret dinner gossips "Hushes". The name made Toris chuckle. It was rather amusing to him than childish. Raivis only had the mental and physical age of fifteen, but he was much older in country age, but his adolescent spirit remained with him. He barely showed any color during the day and when Ivan was at home. He would stay in the living room reading or busily occupy himself with the daily chores, not speaking unless spoken to. But when Ivan was away at the capital and the soldiers left the manor, Raivis was full of optimism, smiling, laughing, sometimes dancing to his own imaginary music that he played in his head. Toris was just glad that he could relish the moments that he spent with the youthful country. So young...

Eduard set the bowls down onto the table carefully and walked back towards the kitchen to grab silverware and a ladle for the stew. Toris set the pot down onto the table, pulled out his chair, and sat down, waiting for Eduard to return with what they needed. After inspecting the small cut on his finger, Toris turned his head towards the Latvian. "How is the book you're reading?" He asked Raivis after a few moments of silence, his green eyes softening at the small country.

"It's pretty good." Raivis said with a sort of forced and fake smile, his blue eyes sort of nervous. That was all he said. Toris raised an eyebrow slightly. He took it that the book wasn't at all good, in fact it may have been some sort of poisonous, government novel. Good books were hard to come by because of the Union, especially this year. The government had gotten much more strict and radical with its communism. Most of the books in the Union were burned or replaced with Bolshevist novels, even harmless children's books. It was complete stupidity and lunacy to Toris, making absolutely no sense to his sane mind. He barely read anything since the Union took over his country, with the acceptance of the daily government newspaper. It was madness.

Toris snapped his head away from Raivis as Eduard walked back into the dinning room with four spoons and a ladle. "Thank you, Eduard." Toris said taking two spoons from him and handing Raivis one of them. Eduard sat down in his chair on the opposite side of Toris, facing him. After they filled their bowls with stew, they began to eat while waiting patiently for the soldiers to leave. They talked a little, innocent talk that is. Mostly about the weather and the ongoing blizzards that came through even though it was just the middle September. They usually kept these small talks sounding happy or boring to through off the soldiers, making them think that they weren't up to something. Though they hadn't gotten caught, they were always alert and quiet with their "Hushes", not taking any chances.

There were several heavy bootsteps clambering down the stairs from a few rooms away. Eduard and Toris exchanged glances as they heard the parade of boots open the front door and march outside. There was a pair of feet heading towards the dinning room. The door opened with a squeak. The Baltics looked up to see a Red Army soldier in the doorway. "We're heading out." He said lowly, his face devoid of emotion, his rifle at ease in his arms and pointing down at the floor. Toris nodded with a warm, phony smile. "Alright then." As quickly as he came, the soldier closed the door, his steps trailing off as they made their way towards the front door. Then, their was a faint squeak and then the door slammed shut. They were alone.

"Are they gone?" Raivis whispered, raising his head to look at Eduard. They paused, listening for a few moments for any movement or sounds. But all that the three could hear was the howling of the wind outside against the curtained window. "Yes, they're gone." Toris said quietly after eating a spoonful of the pork stew.

"Thank God." Raivis sighed softly with a face of relief, keeping his voice down. "The book's absolutely terrible by the way." Toris smirked with half lidded eyes. "Thought so."

"So...is there any news from the capital?" Eduard asked after downing another spoon of his dinner. Toris looked up from his bowl and nodded. "Ivan says that he'll be returning home in exactly seven weeks. He wants to get (y/n) all situated at the capital before he comes home." Toris picked up the ladle, filling his bowl with more hot stew. "He says that she'll be training his military for the next couple of months. About a year, maybe."

Eduard choked on his stew, he coughed slightly. "A y-year? Isn't that a bit long?" Eduard picked up a napkin and covered his mouth with it, finishing his coughs. Toris sighed. "Yes. I'm afraid she'll be staying there a while. He said it all depends on how she cooperates and how diligently she trains them. But I know Ivan will keep her there longer than that. I mean, he has done things like this in the past." Toris chewed on the pork in his mouth before he continued. "He once made a former, human drill Sargent train his troops for four years when he said it would just take five months. He had to resign from training because he almost became delirious from the lack of civilization."

Raivis glanced at Toris. "That's crazy. And he was a human?" Toris nodded and spoke. "What can you expect out of Ivan? It was just a good thing the Sargent got out of there before his mental state got worse." Eduard hummed in agreement, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"Well...that's not exactly what I was concerned about." Eduard said, pouring more stew into his empty bowl. Toris looked up at Eduard with furrowed brows. "Oh...well, what is it then?"

"I know (y/n) is perfectly okay with drilling an army for a prolonged amount of time. I mean, she's a military country herself. Soldiery is her life. But..." Eduard sighed and paused before speaking again. "I don't know how long she'll last without seeing Gilbert."

Toris stopped eating, his green eyes flickered as Eduard continued. "I mean...Gilbert asked me the other day about her and when he might get to see her again. I just look at him and...I don't know what to tell him. And he and (y/n) have been almost inseparable since the day she was founded. This is the first time she has lost a war and it is certainly the first time she has ever been separated from her brothers. Ivan must be completely mad to keep her away from Gilbert for that long. She'll think that he was killed long ago so that the Soviets could take control over her." Toris placed his spoon down. "You're right." Toris mumbled under his breath.

Raivis sat back in his chair nervously, his blue eyes emitting fear. "Do you think Ivan knows what he's doing?" Raivis asked in a shaky whisper, glancing at Eduard. The Estonian looked at him. "In all honesty, Raivis, not at all. I think Ivan's going to go in over his head for this. He'll possibly get himself killed to get what he wants."

Suddenly, Toris stood up, making his chair creak out from under him. He took the unused and empty fourth bowl and began to fill it with the steaming stew. "I'm going to go and give Gilbert his dinner." Toris mumbled abruptly. Eduard watched him and cocked his head to the side slightly. "Toris? Are you alright?"

Toris sighed as he finished filling Gilbert's bowl. "Yeah. I'm okay... I'm just not in the mood to talk about these events right now." Eduard furrowed his brows in a sort of grief. He glanced down at the table for a moment. "I'm sorry, Toris."

Toris smiled softly, putting a spoon into Gilbert's stew. "It's alright, Eduard." Toris turned and headed towards the door. "Well, I'll be back in a bit. Don't eat the rest of dinner without me." Eduard gave a small grin. "Okay."

Swiftly, Toris opened the door with one hand and closed it behind him gently. The hallway was dark and the air was a bit cold. He would have to start a fire soon or the manor would continue to decrease in temperature. Quietly, Toris walked towards the stairs. Uneasiness settled in his head as he approached the stairway. The conversation stirred his mind up a bit, drawing out new fears. What Eduard said was absolutely right and Toris couldn't help but ponder about the horrific possibilities. It would be so easy for you to get the wrong idea and think that Ivan lied to you about Gilbert still being alive. Because if the Russian kept threatening you with your brother's life, he would get your loyalty in return. Simple as that.

He had to admit, Gilbert had asked him quite often "How's my sister? How is she holding up? Is she hurt? Has Braginski done anything to her?" It was so depressing to hear the Prussian croak and plea about (y/n). What was even more daunting to Toris was that he couldn't give Gilbert any information about you until Ivan returned home. It disturbed the Lithuanian in every way. Just how sick could the Russian be? Taking a deep breath, Toris started up the stairs slowly with the bowl in his hands. He didn't know how long he could withstand the bleak and fear that leaked from his reality. And this was just the beginning of the nefarious blizzard.


	10. Scrutiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't finish this chapter in time. I just got a new job and I'm on call, which sucks and I'm having to work for long hours :P But I decided to make this chapter extra exciting and I definitely didn't want to disappoint my audience. I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you for over 1000 hits!

The next week, Performance Day, 11:00 AM

The air was so cold, you could almost imagine your breath fogging in front of you as you stood there in the darkness. And you were indoors. The thin, metal walls produced absolutely no insulation in the spacious warehouse. The faint sound of the icy wind whirled outside, snow falling greatly onto the roof and walls. Tattle, tattle, tattle. It was dark and shadowed, the only light that shown was one, huge spotlight that centered in the middle of the warehouse. Anything that wasn't in the large circle of bright light was swept up by complete blackness, not at all visible to the human eye. It was a death trap. This definitely wasn't something you looked forward to, which was training Ivan's 'best' soldiers in this freezing, spacious building of meager metal. You held back a smile. This was all that Ivan gave you to work with...and it was quite sad. Pathetic. Pitiful. It almost made you chuckle. _Poor Braginski doesn't have the wealth to afford good structures...or more than one light for that matter._  You thought, mocking the Russian internally. _Just shows how idiotic and miserable he his._

Though your mental taunt was ridiculing and brought you some amusement, you were still quite furious about what happened the week before. It was all that was on your mind and you had been itching to let your anger out somehow, spill some blood on behalf of the humiliating event that Ivan carried out. Now, you didn't hesitate to think that Ivan raped you just to rile you up for this day and show how much abhorrent damage and skill you could execute on several trained soldiers. And he, Stalin, generals, and other militia would be watching the entire time. It was maddening, but the rape and observation wasn't enough to make you show the ultimate strength that you could inflict. It would be a mistake to show them all of the dexterity that you had. Anything that they saw that was useful and effective, they would want you to teach. There was no way that you would let them learn all of the skills that you had. You promised yourself that you would only let them see the tip of the iceberg, only giving them the basics, nothing at all advanced or lethal.

Your chest festered with itch. The slash was healing well, but the area was very tender and a lengthy scab covered the sensitive flesh. You were able to apply alcohol and redress it yourself, in private. You were allowed a bedroom at the capital, one that was hopefully temporary. The fact that you were just down the hall from Ivan made your lungs simmer with blazing, hot air. You didn't doubt that he would try to attempt another shenanigan like last week. You didn't sleep for more than four hours between then and now. Every noise that emitted from the huge, government building alerted you out of your sleep, even the possible mice in the walls. You were used to this, because of your natural insomnia, but the fear of being completely knocked out by sleeping gas or an injection silently haunted you. You were even skeptical about eating the food you were given, checking it for any sort of drug once Ivan left your guarded room. Checking the consistency, the smell, the texture, the spices, and the sight of it. Basically seeking for a suspicious, oily or watery liquid or an undissolved powder. You definitely weren't taking any chances anymore. If Ivan could rape you in your forced slumber, he could do more. And you were in no rush to find out.

There was a nudge on your lower back. The soldier that towered behind you prodded you with the tip of his rifle. Go forward. Standing a little straighter, you walked forward, your arms relaxed at your sides as you approached the circle of bright light. Ten feet away. There was a bit of movement to the left of you. Seven. More movement shifted around you in the darkness, the shuffling of clothes, boots, rounds, rifles. Five. You could hear a surrounding breathing in all directions. This was a good sign. Now that you were in the middle of the intense light, you knew exactly what to expect. With a small, smug, hopefully hidden smirk, you reviewed what was going to happen in the empty space of your mind.

_Ivan's men will encircle the light, but will not move out of the darkness, because they are on some sort of signal. There is most likely not going to be a loud or even audible cue, because they want their attack to be undetectable and totally unexpected. Just like an ambush. He will make his men hold their position for at least thirty seconds before making a move. Now, though they are all around me, I can easily disclose what direction they will strike from. They'll attack from the back first, then the side, the back again. Next, they will come at random, more than one person at a time. There has to be at least fifty soldiers in this warehouse, some of which are armed and will use their choice of weapon. Knives, guns, maybe clubs. Ivan, Stalin, and other Soviet officials will be watching from afar, but elevated somewhere, safe from me... They'll observe my fighting and take note on all of my actions._

Your small smile vanished. Slowly turning to your side, your eyes skimming and darting through the black void, searching for where Ivan and Stalin might be located. There was a sudden smell of smoke in the air after twenty seconds of waiting. Tobacco smoke. Looking up a little, you saw a small dot of light several yards away and about twelve feet above the floor. Fire light. It was glowing a pattern of orange, red, and yellow almost like a firefly. You narrowed your eyes and calmly clenched your jaw. It was a cigarette, most likely Ivan's. Only he would be smoking at a time like this. You figured he might have been up on a balcony, a catwalk, or a stand with the other officials, watching you like an audience for a play. You could feel the many eyes on you, staring you down through the pitch-black darkness. But you kept your eyes on the dot of light from Ivan's cigarette, watching it go up and down every few seconds, taking his smokey breathes. You both were staring at each other, no doubt about it. You imagined his godawful violet pupils beaming at yours, his lips kept at a straight line and only parting when he took a sooty breath, and his tall figure standing straight.

 _He's playing me..._  You thought as the dot of light continued to go up and down slowly, breath, after breath, after breath. The cigarette seemed to have the life of a human. It was taking too long to die out. Was this a distraction? A taunt? You weren't afraid and you showed no signs of fear. However, you felt...entranced. A strange feeling that you could not describe. A mixture of annoyance, hostility, and determination. You hated it. You wanted to sprint into the black wall and swiftly lunge at him, using every tactic of your brutal combat to mar him. Smack him around for this silliness and the emotions he was presently making you feel. And the horrible event that happened last week only made you want to slit his throat and bash his bulbous brains in. But your blood ran cold and your entire body stood still, yet relaxed, as the dot of light disappeared.

It vanished. Gone. A few seconds passed. It was so quiet, your ears were almost ringing. Not even the hushed breathing of the soldiers could be heard. You sighed in a disappointed tone, lowering your face and closing your eyes knowing that they were about to attack. Slowly, you unbuttoned your lengthy coat and then took your arms out of the snug sleeves. Holding the coat by its shoulders, you opened your eyes and looked down at it. _That was the signal._  You mumbled internally. And in one fluid motion, you turned around and caught the sneaking Russian soldier's head in your open coat. You wrapped it around his head tightly, and threw him to the ground with a yank of the thick fabric. His head slammed against the concrete floor with a loud thud, the rest of his body fumbling to the ground as you let go of the coat. He groaned in defeat, probably scolding at himself from his failed attempt at grabbing you from behind.

Quickly, you caught an arm that missed your head in a strong grip as you turned back. It was another attacker, another soldier that emerged from the darkness. Immediately, you twisted his arm straight out, locking it, and brought your elbow down on it with an unrelenting amount of force. There was a loud snap and the soldier screamed in agony and pain as his arm was broken. His arm was at an ugly, horrific angle, bent completely backwards and immobile. Letting go of the broken arm, you swung your leg up, roundhouse kicking him in the jaw with great agility and force. It might have been enough to break it or at least bruise it. He stumbled to the side, revealing another soldier behind him. He fell to the ground, clutching his snapped arm, groaning and cursing under his breath.

This next soldier was different. He had something in his hand, a knife. You almost smirked when you noticed his stance. He was quite off balanced with his footing and the way he held the knife was improper and unstable. Based on just the few features that he had, he was nothing more than a novice in the army. A pathetic beginner. This entire attack was going to be too easy to defeat and demolish.

He ran towards you with his knife raised above his head and angled downward. Quickly, you dodged his attack by stepping to the side and kicking his legs, tripping his feet out from under him. He fell and then landed on the ground, flat on his stomach. A loud shout erupted from him along with a few groans. You guess that he stabbed himself with his own knife when he landed, somewhere around the chest area. You spun around, another attacker. He threw a stiff punch at your head, but you easily dodged it by bending back. Grabbing the arm that came at you and using it as support, you drove your foot and leg up and high-kicked the man in the jaw. A thick spray of blood shot out of his nose and mouth. Bending yourself back up and letting go of his arm, you spun, roundhouse kicking the soldier in the head. His body hurtled to the floor on his side.

Your ears picked up running bootsteps from behind you. Turning with great speed, you back-handed the running attacker with a powerful slap to the cheek. He stumbled back, now disoriented and confused. Not wasting any time, you drove a vigorous kick straight into his chest, causing his feet to fly out from under him. He landed hard on his back with a previous, fallen soldier underneath him. He coughed hard and gasped for air. You had knocked the wind out of his lungs. Another pair of feet were coming from behind you. You swiftly turned around and faced the next attacker. You raised an attentive eyebrow. This attacker had a gun, an AVS-36 rifle. From the way this soldier stood, you knew that he knew how to use and maneuver the rifle. He was tall, husky, and strong. He had to have been somewhat trained. He would be more of a challenge.

He raised the barrel of the gun up and aimed it at you, putting his eye on the sight. Instead of lunging at him, you approach this differently. Instinctively, you swatted the barrel of the gun to the side with a hard push, but you kept a firm grip on the gun. The bulky soldier growled, and with a sudden jerk, he put both hands on either side of the gun and lifted it up. You were hoisted up and your feet no longer touched the ground. You took this as an opportunity to swing your legs and feet up and kick the soldier in the face, hard. He stumbled back, letting go of the gun that held you up. He grunted, covering his face with both hands before he staggered back into the darkness. You quickly dropped to the ground, graciously landing on your feet with the gun still gripped in your hands. Swiftly, you armed yourself with the gun, putting the butt of the rifle in your shoulder.

You kept the rifle pointing down at the ground that was littered with quiet and groaning bodies. A few of them stirred and grunted in anguish and pain, while the one with the knife lay unconscious or deceased. This attack was too easy to defeat and you were quite bored already. You didn't even work up the slightest sweat. And now that you had a gun, you were going to be harder to attack until you ran out of ammunition. All you had to decide out of the entire 'performance' time was whether or not to kill or wound Ivan's so called army. He wouldn't stop you from that. He wants to show Stalin just how much more powerful they need to be. And it is going to take them a while to get where they need to be. But that's if you are still willing to cooperate.

 

 

 

5 Hours Later, 4:14 PM

"She's a machine." Stalin said, keeping his voice low but loud enough for the Russian country to hear his comment. The Red leader kept his stare on you, watching the performance that was continuing in front of him. It had nearly been five hours since you started your portrayal and five hours since Stalin had said a word. "It's like she cannot fall tired." He continued, sounding amazed and astonished by the agility and stamina that you possessed. His eyes savored the strength that you illustrated when your attackers approached you, easily defeating them with a few simple or advanced moves and swift dodges.

"Indeed." Ivan agreed, keeping a stare on you as well. They both watched as you injured another soldier. A loud pop echoed throughout the building, presumably the soldier's shoulder being dislocated or broken. A shrill shout screamed out of the man as he fell on the floor, causing further damage to his shoulder. "She's quite the fighter." Ivan added, a bit of grudge lingered in his tone as he lifted his cigarette up to his mouth.

Stalin glanced at Ivan out of the corner of his eye. A small smirk danced onto his lips and his bushy mustache twitched. "I'm sensing some sort envy from you, Ivan." Ivan clenched his jaw in a controlled discontent, breathing in the cigarette smoke, and then blowing it out in a steady stream. "A bit of jealousy, is it?" Stalin teased. Ivan took a small glimpse for a second to see that other Soviet officials were glancing toward him and Stalin, wanting to hear what else there was to apprehend from the new conversation.

Ivan held back a growl and smiled a little, keeping his lazy gaze on you. "Not the slightest, sir." He replied, sounding as confident as he could, trying his best not to scowl at Stalin's tease. But Ivan knew that his leader could read him like the back of his hand. Stalin could tell if Ivan was feeling any different with his mood. "Because the more she trains our army, the stronger we will become." Ivan added before he took another smokey breath, appearing phlegmatic in his words.

Stalin nodded and hummed in agreement. It was actually a true accusation. If you trained Ivan's army well enough, he would gain more of an advantage from you. It would grant him the power to take over other lands and countries, expanding his empire in all directions, and the ability to pass up America in knowledge such as mathematics, chemistry, and space exploration. It was even possible for him to become stronger than you, able to chip away at your foundation with the upcoming communist government that would be launched into your country in the next couple of weeks. Ivan reveled in pleasure at the thoughts that roamed his mind. These were definitely good months for him and the events that would happen throughout the next couple of years. Hopefully for the sick-minded Slavic, the rest of time.

"Well," Stalin sighed, standing a bit straighter than before, alerting his fellow officials, "I think the men have had enough of a demonstration today. We don't want to lose our entire army in one day, now do we?" He smiled at Ivan, turning to him as he put his hands behind his back. Ivan returned a small smirk and replied. "I will see that they will be trained in advance, sir."

Stalin's smile widened. "Oh, and Ivan," He said, taking a step closer to the Russian nation, "make sure that she wears this." Stalin reached into his pants pocket and took out something small. Ivan held out his palm and Stalin dropped the object into his hand. Without another word, Stalin turned on his heel, he headed down the metal catwalk. All of the other officials followed after him one by one, the clanking of boots quietly clinked away from Ivan.

Ivan slipped the small object into his pocket. After a few seconds, Ivan was alone on the catwalk. He looked down at the cigarette that was kept between two gloved fingers. He had about one last breath to go on it. Ivan returned his lazy gaze to you, watching you slice a soldiers side with his own knife, blood sprayed out of the cut and dotted the cold, cement floor. The Russian country couldn't help but glare down on you with a disturbing and childlike smile. Stalin was indeed correct that Ivan was jealous and envious of your strength, and Ivan definitely did not want his leader to sense that. But Ivan was right about one thing. The more you powered his army, the stronger he would become. And that was a mission that Ivan planned to fulfill.

 

 

 

4:37 PM

Quickly, you grabbed the soldier by the front of his uniform and flung his upper body downwards, his feet failed under him and he landed on his knees. You brought your knee up and slammed the man's face down onto your knee all at once, hard. Turning your grip to his shoulder, you leaned his upper body back revealing a bloody and bruised face. He was incredibly dazed from the harsh blow. Crimson drained out of his now crooked nose and his busted lip bled heavily. You could feel the sticky and crusty blood that clung to your hands and left cheek. Of course it wasn't yours. You raised your fist steadily. Just as you were about to deliver the fowl punch into the soldier's distressed face, you stopped. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. _Clapping?_

You slowly lowered your arm and you released the iron grip on the soldier's shoulder. Immediately, he whimpered and cowardly stumbled to his feet and staggered away, into the darkness. You stood at ease, turning in the direction of the clapping. You glanced up at the ceiling to see that several lights were being turned on. Around you, you could see several dozens of soldiers become visible in the range of lights that they were in, many of them bleeding, injured, or dead. None of them showed signs of attack. In fact, they couldn't show signs of attack. Apparently, the performance was over. You sighed inaudibly as you scooped up your trench coat from the blood-crusted ground. You calmly put it on, but you decided not to button it yet.

The clapping continued in the direction that you scanned. You scowled slightly when Ivan came into view, applauding snidely from the previous demonstration. He walked down the metal stairs that were connected to the high catwalk from which he watched. "Well done, Nazi." He boasted in his native language as he came into contact with the floor, his boots echoing off the concrete. "Our leader is very pleased and most impressed with your performance." He stopped his immature clapping once he was on the ground, his hat sitting proudly on his head. You could just see his violet eyes peering down on you intimidatingly from underneath his messy, beige bangs. _That damn smile..._

There was a bitter relief that poured over you. You had grown quite bored after dealing with soldier after soldier after soldier, punch after kick after jab after stab after shot. It was child's play to you. It was so easy. So simple. But at the same time, you didn't want to have to deal with Ivan at the moment. Whatever he had to say was going to be scornful.

"But you could have been a little more sanitary with your executions." He mumbled in German, a disappointed tone stretch over his words as he glanced at the blood stains that splotched your black turtleneck and your left cheek. You faintly narrowed your (e/c) eyes at him while keeping your indifferent expression. He smirked, stopping just a few feet away from you. He raised a gloved finger, and beckoned you with it. "Come here." He mumbled softly, his smirk twitched with his command. You stared at him with irk in your eyes, but you sighed silently and sauntered over to him. Without warning, he tenderly gripped your jaw in his gloved hand, tilting your face up to his, locking his eyes with yours. You furrowed your brows in chagrin as he turned your head from side to side. You hated this. You hated this moment that you were presently in, because it reminded you of your first day here.

The morning that you arrived in Moscow, out on the snow covered ground, being inspected by Ivan while Gilbert bled horrendously from his mouth and nose. Feeling the familiar, cold leather on your skin made your stomach knot and your fists clench. It wasn't a good reminder. Was he just doing this to gall you? You didn't know why and you didn't care. You aggressively tore your head out of the Russian's maternal grip, turning your head to the side. You did not like the feeling at all. The discomfort. _Don't touch me..._

You took it that Ivan did not like the way you resisted his misleadingly benevolent touch when he violently grabbed both of the lapels of your open coat with his hostile hands. Your eyes glared a hateful beam, but you scowled in annoyance as he pulled you closer to him roughly, nearly ripping your feet off of the ground. You were practically standing on the tips of your toes. You painfully let Ivan do this, not because you were afraid of getting shot, but because you were just too jaded to act. You kept your arms at their side, relaxing them. _Just let him have his way. It's not worth the energy._  You thought as Ivan slowly leaned his upper body down, his face just inches away from yours.

He was glaring down at you now, his violet eyes were much darker, but that smile of his still lingered. You could smell the strong cigarette smoke on his breath. "Let me make something clear, (y/n)." He hissed lowly, shaking you a few times by your coat like you were a toy before held you still. He wanted to make sure you were giving him your full, undivided attention. "I can do whatever I want to you. I can take whatever I want from you. I can get whatever I want from you. And I will treat you however I want to. So you had better get used to it." He wrathfully whispered, just loud enough for you to hear his threatening words. You exhaled the hot air from your lungs, narrowing your eyes at him in a disgusted disbelief. This was nothing but humiliating, especially with all of the soldiers watching.

His cruel smile widened after a few seconds. "Understand, milaya?" He asked in a sing-song voice, raising an eyebrow under his bangs. You remained quiet, giving him an objectionable silence before answering. "Da..." You muttered under your breath, not wanting the nagging moment to last any longer. Your hands were itching for a grip around his throat, because of that annoying name that he called you. Immediately, Ivan's face went from threatening to amiable. "Good." He whispered and then he slowly made space between the two of you, lowering you back onto your feet. However, he did not let go of you, still keeping a stiff grip on the lapels of your coat.

You watched him as he reached into the pocket of his coat. He pulled something out. It was very small and flat, no bigger than two inches, but you couldn't tell what it was. He let go of your coat's left lapel and focused more on the right one. He tugged you a little closer to him, something you didn't want to do again. It was hard enough breathing in the same room with him. You pulled back a little, getting antsy and not wanting to get any closer. "Hold still." He softly snapped as he pinned something onto the black fabric of your trench coat. "And don't take this off. Ever. Or there will be punishments."

He let you go completely as soon as he was finished. You took a few steps back, relieved to get out of his grip. You glanced down at what he pinned on you. Ripping your eyes from the horrendous pin, you glared up at Ivan, obviously disgusted. It was a red, metal star. Another label. _Not again._ There was no way that you would wear the unholy symbol, especially not around other nations. The Nazi swastika was already enough for you. Ivan was clearly pleased and satisfied with the image that stood in front of him. His smug smirk played onto his lips at the sight. He put his hands behind his back and straightened himself. "You will wear it proudly." He said in his language. You heard several snickers emit from some of the surrounding soldiers though most of them were horrendously damaged. The tips of your ears fumed with heat and anger.

There was a sudden rumbling. You turned your head to the right as afternoon light and snowflakes poured into the warehouse opening. The large, sliding doors were opening, dismissing the soldiers from the demonstration. The air became much more cold and bitter. You squinted into the bright light to see a few medics trudge in with medical supplies to help the injured and remove the dead. You returned your gaze to Ivan. He kept that damn smile on his face and walked towards the warehouse's opening. "Come along, Nazi. We're done for the day." He called, beckoning you with a wave of his arm. You angrily sighed and followed after him, shoving your blood-crusted hands into the deep pockets of your trench coat. Soon enough you caught up with him, walking in his long shadow. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair whipped in the freezing, cold wind that blew into the warehouse. You tilted your head down as the air stung your cheeks and nose.

However, you kept your glare on the towering Russian nation that strode a few feet in front of you. _Who the fuck does Ivan think he is?_  You thought, though you already knew the answer to the question. There was literally no one else as screwed up in the mind as him. You just prayed that this separation would be shorter than you ever hope it would be. There would be no sanity left for you, Ludwig, or Gilbert if this treatment was kept up. And Ivan showed no sign of mercy when it came to that.


	11. Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be focused on Gilbert, Ivan, and the Baltics. The next chapter will be focused on Ludwig and you. How are you guys enjoying the story so far? Things are going to be heated in this chapter, so you might want to hug a pillow. Thank you so much for the hits, comments, and kudos!

7 weeks later, 2:26 PM, Ivan's manor

Toris nervously tugged at the collar of his white, button up shirt, but his tan sweater vest kept it in place, unable to adjust the fabric to his edgy skin. Whatever he tried to occupy himself with wouldn't make a difference. He couldn't sit still, he couldn't eat as much, he couldn't sleep that well. The pessimistic anticipation was eating away at him. It wasn't healthy for him to be thinking of the worst at a time like this. Well...anyone would if an abusive suzerain was coming home in less than five minutes. He had made so many preparations in the manor with the help of Eduard and Raivis. Even after all of the daily, thorough cleaning, mopping, sweeping, dusting, and changing curtains, changing bedsheets, and rearranging and refurbishing furniture, the Baltics felt like it wasn't enough to please Ivan. Many times in the past, they were unable to reach Ivan's standards and it left them with harsh slaps to the face, busted lips, and punitive scolding. And when they did meet his ideal calibers, the only reward that they received was a cheery compliment.

But what they were extra distressed and vigilant with was Gilbert's overall health. Ivan was looking forward to checking up on the Prussian's physical improvement. He wanted him to be as healthy as possible before he launched the communist agenda into Gilbert's territory. It was important that the Soviets let Gilbert regain his strength, because the sudden communism would only worsen his current wellness and possibly kill him. He could only handle the Bolshevik government if he was back on his feet, which was going to take longer than expected. But unfortunately, with all of the progressive healing of his swollen eyes, Gilbert was still very blind and very weak. And his unceasing fever was on and off, popping up every few days and then retreating out of his body only to come back the next week.

Some days, Toris would go up to Gilbert's room and find him ralphing up a mixture of blood and his dinner, emptying everything in his stomach. His forehead would feel like a blazing fire and his throat would be so sore that he couldn't talk. His breathing would sound raspy and terrible to the ears. His body was horribly underweight, but he was slowly and gradually putting on a few pounds. His ribs were gingerly becoming less and less visible and his wounds were healing steadily, which was a blessing after weeks of nothing but negative outcomes. And, thankfully, he did not have a fever that day. "It's not much, but it's something." Toris thought as he traveled up the large staircase.

After reaching the top of the stairs, hurrying down the maze of hallways, and climbing a second flight of stairs, Toris arrived at Gilbert's room. Gently, he opened the door and took a step inside the dark bedroom. "Gilbert," Toris whispered out to the resting man, "you have to wake up. Ivan's almost here."

After a few seconds, Toris frowned out of annoyance when Gilbert stuck his hand out from under the blankets and flipped him off. Toris collectively flounced over to the bed and gripped the blankets, ripping them off of Gilbert's upper body. "Gilbert, this isn't funny." Toris quietly snapped at the German. "You have to be wide awake when he gets here." Gilbert carefully turned over onto his back after sighing with a scowl.

"Why should I...?" Gilbert croaked out, sounding nettled. "I highly doubt he's bringing my sister with him. If she's not coming...then I don't give a shit what he does." He leaned up just enough to grab a blanket and pulled it over him. He grunted when he came back down, his wounds were still in bad shape and his body was incredibly weak, it was still quite painful for him to move. He turned his blindfolded face away from Toris. "Ivan can stick me in the cold for all I care..."

Toris continued to frown at Gilbert with impatient, green eyes. He sighed and yanked the blanket off of Gilbert, exposing him once more. "I don't know if she's coming or not, but there's still a possibility that she will come here. If not, I won't bother you." Gilbert was silent and did not move. Toris could hear his raspy lungs inhale and exhale air. "But just in case if she is, you should wake yourself up and put something on." Toris continued, heading towards the trunk at the end of the bed. He didn't really know if you were coming along with Ivan, in fact, he didn't know if you were ever going to come to Ivan's manor. But he only mentioned you to Gilbert so that he would cooperate with him. Anything to make Gilbert cope.

He opened it and took out a dark brown, wide round necked sweater. It was a bit large for Gilbert, but it was warm and it wouldn't cause much of a struggle to get on. Toris didn't have to take out any pants, because Gilbert was already wearing a pair. Since Gilbert's legs weren't as affected as his arms and torso, which needed to breath, he could wear pants to keep him from getting cold. After closing the trunk, Toris walked back over to the bedside with the sweater in the crook of his arm.

"Can you sit up for me?" Toris asked softly, unfolding the sweater in his hands and holding it by the shoulders. Gilbert didn't move for a few seconds, but he sighed. "Fine..." He muttered under his breath and he slowly sat up, he winced and hissed as his upper body curled. He put his arms up carefully and cautiously, not wanting to damage the scabs under his bandages. Toris gently put Gilbert's head through the large neckline and his arms through the long sleeves. He pulled the rest of the shirt down his upper body and abdomen. "You can lay back down now, but don't fall asleep." Toris said as he began to leave the room. Immediately, Gilbert laid back down with a faint grunt. But Toris stopped and turned around as he reached the doorway.

"Can you just promise me one thing?" Toris said with worry in his tone, his eyes were in a small state of concern. Gilbert was still silent and his blindfolded face continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, not in the mood for talking anymore. But Toris continued anyways. "Try not to get Ivan angry. It's better to just let him have his way. He's not worth the fight." Silence. Not a word or twitch came out of the albino. Toris furrowed his brows in disappointment, but he hoped that Gilbert understood and took his advice. Toris was not looking forward to patching up new wounds on the weakened man. He was already in a horrendous condition. Slowly, he closed the door, leaving Gilbert alone until Ivan arrived home.

After a few minutes, Gilbert turned onto his side, facing away from the door. He didn't bother to pull the blankets back over him and nor did he care that he would get cold and catch another fever. For the past nine weeks, he had been angry at the world. He was furious with the Allies, every single member. He was enraged at the Austrian prick that got his family into this mess. If he was back on his feet and at his full strength, he would be more than pleased to punch Roderich into a bloody mess. He was livid at the Soviets that separated him,you and Ludwig. He was frustrated at the strange knocking on the wall back at the interrogation building several weeks ago. He couldn't figure out what it was or what it meant, whether it was you or someone else.

All of these images of hate fueled his mind as he laid in his bed for the long nine weeks. But more than anything else, he was angry at himself. He scolded himself daily, most of the time it was before he fell asleep. He repeatedly blamed himself for the war just as Ludwig did in the muddy streets of Berlin. He felt that he failed his name. He felt that he failed his empire and everything that he stood for. He was repentant that he couldn't save his own family, the one that he worked so hard to protect. He felt ashamed of himself, wondering what Fritz and Germania could be thinking. How disappointed they were in him.

 _Stop it._  He internally snapped at himself. _(Y/n) will possibly be coming to here. Don't be in a bad mood for her. She's one of the only protections that you have left until you're all reunited and safe. Get your fucking head out of the sand, Gilbert, you damn cunt!_  Gilbert clenched his teeth together, trying not to get angry with himself. But it was no use. He had already fallen into a state of aggravation and it wasn't a good emotion to express today. Especially with a bad tempered Russian coming home.

 

 

 

2:45 PM

Knock knock. There were two loud knocks on the front door, startling Raivis who was sitting nervously on one of the couches in the living room. The small country snapped his head in the direction of the knocking. His deep, blue eyes went wide in a state of panic, his breathing ceased instantly. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up and sting his skin, which was now becoming paler by the second. It was Ivan, no doubt about it. He always knocked only twice. Raivis's ears then picked up the sound of feet scampering down the stairs in a rushed pace. He stood up with a jump, setting the book he was reading onto the coffee table. He snapped his head to the stairs.

It was Eduard. He was finishing the top buttons of his light blue shirt. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he adjusted his glasses and bolted to the door. He hesitated before he took hold of the knob with an uneasy hand, glancing at Raivis with an unsettled expression. He swallowed, and with a quick turn of the knob, he gently swung the large door wide open. Immediately, a gust of cold, icy wind kissed his cheeks, blowing his blond bangs up and sticking his glasses with a few snowflakes. He held his breath as his eyes traveled up the tall Russian until he met with a pair of purple orbs. Eduard felt his blood run cold and his heart jump to his throat as Ivan childishly smiled and took a slow step forward. He was in that olive colored, Soviet uniform of his, his hat proudly resting over his beige hair, and his white scarf was wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He couldn't help but glance at the Russian's jawline, noticing the faint splotch of purple on his pale skin. It looked old to Eduard, like Ivan had gotten into an accident of some sort. How did he get it...? He was suddenly ripped away from his thoughts as Ivan spoke.

"Eduard." Ivan greeted brightly, sounding happy to see him. He placed a firm, gloved hand on Eduard's shoulder. "It's good to see you." Eduard felt himself lightly tremble under his grip. _Smile, idiot._  Eduard internally snapped at himself when he didn't respond back after a few moments. Eduard quickly smacked a warm grin on to his face. It was obviously out of the fear of getting slapped or punched across the cheek by Ivan. It would definitely anger him if he didn't reply or react in his prefered amount of time. "It's good to see you, too, Ivan." Eduard said warmly as Ivan let go of his shoulder, which he was more than grateful for. Eduard stepped aside for Ivan to come in, since the whether was incredibly cold, dark, cloudy, and terrible. Even in the middle of the day. Eduard noted that it was especially icy today. It was much warmer out an hour ago, but now it felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees. It seemed like wherever Ivan went, he brought the blizzard with him.

Ivan strode inside. His heavy boots thudded against the mahogany wood floor, tracking clumps of snow that stuck to his soles. Eduard internally whinned and gazed down at the messy entrance. He had just mopped and swept the floor a few hours ago. He would have to do it all again. Eduard closed the front door, stopping the cold air from coming into the cozy house. The wind continued to whirl and howl boisterously outside. Ivan took off his hat and carefully and brushed the snow off of it. He tucked it under his arm and took off his gloves. He then brushed off snow that was on his shoulders.

Scanning the vestibule of the manor, Ivan took note of how clean and tidy everything was. The smell of floor polish and fireplace smoke filtered his nostrils. Ivan felt a small smile curl onto his lips. It definitely smelled like home to him. He turned his head to the gigantic living room. The fireplace roared and glowed with hot coals and burning wood. The mahogany floor was slick, glossy, and polished. The dark red, patterned rug that lay beneath the couches was spotless and free of dirt and lint. The endtables and coffee table were dusted and buffed. Ivan had to give the Baltics some credit. Everything seemed to be pretty pristine and to his liking.

Ivan then noticed the small country that was standing next to one of the three couches. "Raivis." Ivan beamed, his amethyst eyes lightened. He stood still, his big, blue orbs stared at the Russian. Ivan could see the nervousness and alarm in his eyes and the paleness of his skin. It made Ivan slightly smile wider. His messy, blond hair just hovered over his eyebrows. Ivan watched as Raivis slowly smiled in uncertainty. He was scared. "Welcome home, Mr. Braginski." Raivis said shakily, his breathing hitched a little. Ivan chuckled in his throat and stuffed his gloves into his pocket. Immediately, Raivis flinched, twitching his eyes in uneasiness. Ivan began to stride over to the Latvian, his heavy steps making the small country tremble in his place.

As Ivan made his way over to Raivis, Toris quietly climbed down half of the stairs. He peered over the railing and gazed into the living room, watching as Ivan greeted Raivis. He put a large hand on his head, rubbing Ravis's hair through his fingers. "You've gotten taller." Ivan mumbled, smirking as Raivis shuttered quietly.

Toris noticed that you weren't with him. He furrowed his brows in confusion. He quickly looked at Eduard, who was still by the door. Toris mouthed to the other Baltic who was now gazing at him. "Is she here?" Eduard frowned and shook his head. _No._

Worriedly, Toris clenched his jaw and sighed nervously, placing his stare back on Ivan who was now in a conversation with Raivis. He was hoping that you would be here. Gilbert was so looking forward to seeing you...well, hearing and feeling you. He desired to hear if you were okay, that the Soviets hadn't hurt you or killed you. He yearned to have you back with him in one piece, no bruises, no broken bones, no bloody wounds, no sickness. He wanted you to be completely fine. For nearly nine weeks, Toris had to listen to Gilbert, asking about you and Ludwig, if there was any word about the two of you. But it haunted Toris that he could only tell him about Ludwig, that his younger brother was rebuilding his country and strengthening his people and his ties with other countries, trying to push past the war and get back on track. Hearing about his brother made him quite happy and relieved. Toris even saw him smile a couple of times after hearing the progress Ludwig was making. But he was more than terrified at the fact that you were separated so suddenly, without being able to say goodbye or have knowledge of where you were or what condition you were in. It definitely gave him an awful amount of anxiety.

But it angered Toris that Ivan wanted to tell Gilbert in person and wait all of this time to finally hear about you. Not only that, but Ivan wanted to feed off of Gilbert's anger. To watch him throw himself into complete hate for the man, as if Gilbert could hate him more than he already did. It sickened the Baltic. Ivan was nothing but a sadist in Toris's eyes. Just someone who wanted to set flame to the earth and watch the world burn and crumble.

"Toris." The sudden greeting snapped Toris straight out of his thoughts. He didn't even realize that Ivan had turned around and spotted him on the stairs, staring at him with his green eyes. Ivan was smiling childishly up at him, his eyes were half lidded. Toris gently grinned and climbed down the rest of the stairs. Ivan approached him at the bottom of the stairs. "How have things been?" Ivan asked, now looking down on Toris. Toris felt himself shrink under his gaze. "Things have been quite well. The house have been clea-" Toris was quickly interrupted. "How is the Nazi?" Ivan asked coldly, more than uninterested in the manor's tidiness.

Toris paused and blinked, his kind smile faded. "Gilbert?" Ivan smirked irritatingly, his eyes narrowed in impatience. "No, Adolf Hitler. Yes, Gilbert." He mocked, annoyance and angry sarcasm was present in his tone. Toris swallowed nervously before answering with a small, reassuring smile. "He's doing a lot better. His injuries are healing just fine. He'll be back on his feet soon."

Ivan stared at Toris for a moment before he tilted his head up, peering up at the top of the stairs. "Really? Well, then." Ivan smiled unpleasantly, keeping his gaze on the top of the stairs. "I think I'll go and see for myself." Ivan then pushed past Toris, bumping his shoulder. Toris shuttered and gasped, his eyes went wide and distressed as he watched Ivan stalk up the stairs. Toris's mind whirled into a state of harrow as Ivan disappeared upstairs.After a few moments, Toris hesitated and took a few quiet, careful steps up the stairs. But he was suddenly stopped by Eduard.

"What are you doing?" Eduard whispered loudly in worry and confusion. Toris looked over his shoulder. He was halfway up the stairs. "I have to make sure things don't get out of hand up there. I don't need Gilbert getting himself into a fight." Toris whispered back. He tried to turn and head up the rest of the stairs, but he was stopped again. "Toris, you're going to get yourself killed!" Raivis warned in a louder whisper, his eyes were wide and panicked as he stood next to Eduard.

"I'll be fine, Raivis. Trust me." Toris reassured with a soft tone, and without another word or objection from Eduard and Raivis, Toris climbed up the rest of the stairs.

 

 

 

Knock. Knock. Knock. Gilbert was startled by the sudden knocks on his door. He had almost drifted back to sleep until the loud knocking rattled on the wood of the door. After a moment, Gilbert sighed angrily, thinking that it was Toris coming back to tell him to stay awake. But he didn't want to. Not for the Russian that was coming home to most likely mock him. He knew that there was no way you were here. He knew Ivan wouldn't allow it. He perceived that Ivan wanted to watch him suffer and beg to see you again. It was more than obvious to the albino.

"Go away, Toris... I'm not in the mood for your shit." Gilbert muttered, his voice sounding raspier than before. He was still facing away from the door, laying on his side. All that Gilbert wanted at the moment was solitude, not to be bothered. He was already in a pretty appalling mood, which built up for nine to eight weeks. He felt that he needed space, some time to be alone in his thoughts. The empty promises and hopes that Toris gave him was not helping him at all. He had to think and ponder realistically. A few seconds passed and then Gilbert heard the door creak open.

Gilbert clenched his teeth together as heavy feet stepped into his room and the door closed shut. "That's not very nice of you to say, Gilbert." The intruder said with a familiar chuckle. The albino felt his stomach drop and his heart dive. It was Ivan. Gilbert furrowed his brows in displeasure and exhaled hot air silently through his nose. It was no surprise to Gilbert that it was Ivan. Toris had talked about nothing but Ivan's arrival all week and all this morning. And he was supposed to be coming home today. He was expecting either him or Ivan to enter the room.

Gilbert had a strange relief that it was Ivan and not Toris, for Toris was the only person he talked to for the entire month. He was getting rather annoyed at the meek, cowardice Baltic. All that poured out of his mouth was negative news, pointless topics, and 'I don't know'. Most of the time, the albino hoped that Toris would bite his tongue while talking and shut up for the rest of the month. But of course it never happened. Gilbert felt oddly glad that Ivan was home. Not that he liked his company, which he absolutely loathed, wanting him to be as far away from him as possible. But because he could perhaps find out about you and if you were okay. If there was anyone who knew about your whereabouts and condition, it was the damn Ruski himself.

Gilbert heard Ivan approach the side of his bed. "How are you feeling?" Ivan asked, sounding snidely innocent. His usual smile was on his face. His purple eyes wandered from Gilbert's feet to his bandaged, blind head. Gilbert didn't answer. It was a mock. He still laid completely still.

"Well, I take it that you're getting back to your normal self." Ivan said, taking note of the albino's drastic change in behavior and emotion. Ivan continued on, attempting to get Gilbert angrier. "You're usually in a bad mood after losing a war."

"Get out." Gilbert finally snapped, his voice sounding cold, low, and threatening. The last thing he wanted was for Ivan to humiliate him, to slam him verbally while he lay defenseless in the bastard's own home. He felt his eyes ache from the intense furrowing of his brows. If he wasn't careful and able to calm down, he would end up irritating them.

Ivan's smile only grew, seeing that he pushed a right button. "But Gilbert, I'm only stating the facts." He teased in a singsong voice. Nothing but hateful silence came out of Gilbert. Ivan chuckled soon after without letting his smile vanish too quickly.

"Goodness. Here I am talking about you and your usual behavior." Ivan uttered, sounding over dramatic. "I should be telling you about my swelling army and the expansion of my country." He continued while looming over Gilbert, keeping his eyes fixed on his blind face, wanting to take in every facial expression that the Prussian conveyed. "Everything is just as planned. I have my land, my fellow countries, and future objectives to look forward to. Stalin is making plans for you, and within a few more months, you'll be back on your feet."

Gilbert tsked, obviously irritated. "Great." He sarcastically scoffed. "That sounds fan-fucking-tastic, Braginski. Now, get out of my room."

Ivan was quiet for a few moments, then he sighed disappointingly. "I guess you don't want to hear about my army's new instructor." Ivan baited. "The last one that I had was just too...worn out from all of the drilling. But this new one is much better and has a great background in combat."

"Ah. Another drone being used to strengthen a shitty, Slavic army." Gilbert insultingly muttered. Ivan could just see a small smirk play onto Gilbert's pale lips. "He'll probably try to withdraw from the position and get himself killed in the process anyways." Gilbert let a small snicker escape his mouth. Just thinking of the trainer trying to drill the Soviets made Gilbert want to laugh his strange guffaw. Pondering about the entire situation was just a pathetic picture to him. "I almost feel sorry for him."

The Russian almost laughed, hysterically even. He was overjoyed that his prisoner of war had no knowledge about you, that you had joined the union and was now instructing the Red army. Ivan saw that Toris had held his tongue and dismissed any information about you, that he pretended to have no idea that you were a member. This was just too perfect for him. Gilbert was entirely clueless. Ivan spotted his opportunity and he took it with a cruel smile, one that he wished Gilbert could see.

"You know, she's actually quite the fighter. Small, but efficient and durable. Smart, too." Ivan said, sounding like a tease. "I almost got worried. I lost a few good trainees to her demonstrations and I could have lost more. But I think it was quite worth it. There were many useful techniques that we managed to record and save, all thanks to her." He then faked a frown and sighed, turning towards the door. "However, she's not easy to cope with. A little wayward with my orders, but the job gets done anyways. Oh, but why should you care. Why should my news surprise or interest you." He adjusted the hat that was tucked under his arm. "I'll just leave." Just as he stepped to turn away and head to the door, something roughly snatched his wrist with a reasonable amount of strength.

Ivan glanced down to see that Gilbert was now sitting up right. His hand was clasped tight around Ivan's wrist, preventing him from leaving or taking another step. His breathing was slow but loud, wheezy, and struggled. Gilbert's bandaged and blind head stared forward blankly, almost deprived of any emotion. "What do you mean 'she'?" Gilbert growled lowly. Gilbert's mind whirled and a sudden burst of fear crawled around in his stomach. He knew that the Soviets rarely hired women to train militia, if not, never. It was one in a million. Impossible. "You never hire women as militia instructors. Why the sudden change?" He felt his blood rush and pump faster as Ivan giggled darkly. It actually scared him, terrified him. "What's so funny?" Gilbert retorted, now tightening his grip on Ivan's wrist. Now he was furiously anxious, feeling that Ivan was teasing him about something. What was he hiding?

"I can't believe you are this blind, Gilbert." Ivan laughed, yanking his wrist out of the albino's grip. "It's such a disappointment. I thought you were smarter than this." He continued to laugh in a mocking manor. Gilbert was now raged. His entire head was blistering with heat. His fists were clenched into iron and his brows were furrowed hatefully. He couldn't hold back anymore anger, he was pissed. He felt something snap in his head.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?" Gilbert shouted at the top of his lungs, practically screaming. He turned his face towards Ivan. He wanted to jump out of his bed and punch the living daylight out of the Russian, to break his jaw, to slap him, to kick him. Anything to stop his maniacal, taunting laughter.

Surprisingly, Ivan stopped laughing. He was still sneering at Gilbert, his violet eyes took all the pleasure in gazing down at his convict. "Since you're too stupid to figure this out for yourself, I'll just have to tell you straight out." Ivan muttered dissatisfied, yet excitedly. Gilbert's heart thumped crazily. His throat was now aching and sore from the sudden shout that erupted from his lungs. So many questions popped up and dashed throughout his brain. Why would Ivan hire a woman to train his soldiers? Why isn't she fond of Ivan and disobedient and objective to him? Why is he so deride with his attitude? It was too infuriating to him. He desired all of these questions to be answered. He wanted the truth.

"When you were escorted to my home, your sister stayed behind for a while. I still had more questions for her to answer and some documents that she had to sign. But for about eight days, I had to leave her alone, because she had gotten a little...uncooperative. After giving her some time, I went back to her cell for more questions only to find out that she had been banging on the walls and causing some disturbance." Ivan said, sounding like a storyteller. "Now this was rather unacceptable. So, I confronted her and asked her what exactly she was doing. Of course she refused to tell me like the good, little Nazi she is. But I had to get a little more assertive with her. So..." Ivan paused, checking to see if Gilbert was paying attention, and to irate him further. Gilbert's teeth were gritted and clenched in full vex. "Shut up..." Gilbert hissed darkly, seeming extremely threatening.

"I told her that if she did not collaborate with me, then I would have you suffer greatly. Perhaps even have you executed for my own personal gain. But if she were to pledge loyalty to me, my army, and the Union, then I would not lay a hand on you. That night, I had her escorted to the capital where she then signed a legal document of full surrender and allegiance to the USSR. I think you can take a guess at who the instructor is now, can't you, Gilbert?"

"SHUT UP!" Gilbert yelled, taking a swing at Ivan. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. The entire story rolled around in his head. He didn't want to believe it. You were too sturdy, too devoted to your government, country, and people to let Ivan take full custody and control over you. If anyone knew you better, it was him and Ludwig. "YOU FUCKING LIAR!" His fist was quickly caught by a large, strong hand before it could make contact with Ivan's stomach. Gilbert then tried to pull his arm out of Ivan's hold, struggling to shake it out of his possession.

Ivan sighed and then chuckled. "Think about it, Gilbert. I threaten to cause harm to you if she doesn't hand herself over fully. Or she can pledge commitment and I won't hurt a single hair on your head. It makes perfect sense. It's elementary." He said earnestly, keeping a tough hold on Gilbert's fist as he continued to scuffle for freedom or any leeway of the Russian's grasp. "If anything, it's very sweet of her to take the beating for you since you're in such bad condition." Ivan smiled with half-lidded eyes. "Such a good, little sister."

"GET OUT!" Gilbert shouted, yanking his fist free from Ivan's clutch. He could feel his heart about to explode out of his chest. His stomach and head felt queasy from the anger and hate. This had to be a sick nightmare. He couldn't believe what Ivan was telling him. He thought it was poison, a lie, a deception. He wanted to wake up, that this was all a dream. It couldn't be real. It's impossible. He knew that there was no way that you fell to Ivan's power, to his order. You couldn't.

Suddenly, Ivan snatched Gilbert's throat and held him there and used his other hand to grasp his shoulder, digging his thumb into Gilbert's shoulder. He gasped and struggled in what little scope he had, holding onto Ivan's arms with both hands, trying to pry the strong hands off of him. "Let go...of me!" Gilbert choked out wrathfully, scrapping to get free of Ivan's painful hold. Ivan slowly squeezed Gilbert's throat, torturing his already damaged lungs. Desperately, Gilbert coughed for air as his adam's apple began to suffer.

"I haven't even finished." Ivan said lowly, his accent thickened as he pressed harder on Gilbert's throat. "It's very rude that you keep interrupting me." His eyes began to get darker and colder with every second, staring down the gasping albino. Gilbert began to claw at Ivan's hands, the color of his face began to transition from white to light, purplish blue. His breathing was becoming more and more scarce, he wheezed greatly as his mind began to fuzz up. "F..Fuck...you..." He managed to rasp out with gritted teeth. He felt tears gather at the corners of his swollen eyes. Ivan smirked inhumanly, squeezing harder. "What was that? I couldn't hear you." Ivan sneered wickedly, watching as Gilbert continued to squirm and gasp for air. "Why don't you try speaking up."

Gilbert then spat blindly up at Ivan's face, managing to hit him in the left eye. Ivan instantly let go of Gilbert's throat and shoulder. Gilbert choked and coughed as air returned to his lungs, blood rushed back to his head. His hands immediately grasped his chest and throat, trying to get his breathing and pulse back to normal. Ivan slowly wiped the spit from his eye with a few fingers. He looked down the clear, saliva that covered his fingers. His cruel smile was replaced with a lethal frown. His brows furrowed with outrage. Wrath prickled in his mind. Raising his right hand, Ivan slapped Gilbert straight across the face, brutally. Gilbert's head turned as he received the foul smack, his body failed and fell down back into bed, landing on his side. His body was too weak to withstand the sudden force. One hand cover his cheek which was now stinging and aching.

As Gilbert continued to gasp for air, Ivan spoke up. "I'll just go on with what I have to tell you." He growled coldly, wiping away the rest of Gilbert's saliva from his eye. "After signing the surrender papers, I decided that she could receive medical treatment on her wounds. The next day, she was escorted to the medical ward, but she caused another disturbance and attacked the doctor. So, we had to sedate her so that she could get treatment, painlessly and peacefully." Ivan turned and walked towards the door, but he continued to talk as he went. "But, when I came to take her to the capital for the night, she was still out cold. The doctor said it would be hours before she would wake up." Ivan reached the door and opened it, but paused and looked back over at Gilbert, who was still recovering from the choke.

Ivan smiled sadistically. "When I saw her on the table, I couldn't help but notice how cute she looked. So calm. So still... So vulnerable." He mumbled lustfully, he was almost whispering. "I thought it would be such a waste if I missed an opportunity like that. So...I dressed her, drove her, and carried her to my room in the Kremlin." Ivan could see Gilbert cease his troubled, wheezy breathing. He was motionless, like a corpse. Ivan hummed as he remembered that night. "Oh, I just couldn't help myself. She was just too much for me to handle." Ivan giggled after he opened the door and closed it half way, just so that half of him was still emerged. "She felt so good." He moaned, exaggerating the word 'so'.

Ivan stepped out of the room and shut the door closed as a glass was thrown at the door. Thunk! Gilbert had chucked his empty glass that was sitting on the nightstand at the Russian in all of his rage. But he missed, instead, hitting the door. Glass popped and shattered, splintering to the floor. Gilbert violently fell back into bed, curling onto his side, and grabbing his silvery, white hair and scalp with his boney fingers. He listened as Ivan giggled behind the door and trudged down the hallway in heavy steps, they faded away until he could hear nothing but the icy wind outside the window. He wanted to scream, to shout, to kick, to punch, to bite. But he couldn't. He was so angry, so vexed, that he couldn't react or speak.

"This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real." He repeatedly whispered, burying his face into his hands. He didn't want to believe it, that you had surrendered to the Soviet Union. That you had been raped by the Russian sadist. It was more than a nightmare. It was Hell. Pure Hell. And he couldn't escape it. This was real. He ran his lanky fingers through his hair, slowly and roughly pressing on his scalp. He felt his eyes water. Not out of pain, but out of anger, out of sorrow, out of self-hate. He never felt more ashamed in his life. He was in full depression.

He felt that Fritz and Vati could never absolve him. Never. That he would be damned to Hell, just like he was dissolved to ever become a country ever again. He couldn't stop the tears that escaped his swollen eyes. He began to pray, to ask for discharge from you, though you were many miles away. It was for anyone who was listening. Fritz. Vati. You. Even Ivan. He began to weep halfway through his whispered pleas, his lip quivered and his voice hitched to a higher note. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry. P-please...forgive me...I'm so sorry..."


	12. Prolonged Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over a hundred kudos! Thank you so much! This chapter is going to be centered around you and Ludwig. Things are going to speed up and time is going to fly within these next few chapters. Hope you guys enjoy!

February 16th, 1946. 1:30 PM

Ludwig hurried down one of the many hallways of his capitol building, nervously breathing in the cozy air. His hair was slicked back into its usual style, neat and out of the way. The bitter aftertaste of black tea still lingered on his tongue. His tie was much too tight around his neck, but he was in such a rush to get out of the house today. His sharp eyebrows were furrowed into a worried and anxious expression, almost panicked. His pulse thumped in his throat and pounded in his head. The German could barely hear himself think as he neared the private meeting room.

This was it. After waiting for so long, he was finally able to sit down and talk with Alfred, face to face. The American had been in so bad of a debt, he could barely see anyone for a meeting. His economy had dropped tremendously in the markets over the years and things were steadily getting worse. And since the majority of his people were off celebrating the end of the barbaric and atrocious war, Alfred took a few months to rejoice with them. _A little selfish of him...but I could understand the need for some sort of after-war festivities..._  Ludwig thought as he drew closer and closer to the meeting room. But his short vacation time was over, and now that you had apparently joined the Soviet Union so suddenly after the separation, tensions were continuing to rise between America and Russia.

Ludwig wasn't too familiar with the present 'Cold War' between the two superpower nations, only that it was a race for power, control, exploration, and technology. He thought it was a silly and pathetic temper tantrum over who had the best of this or the best of that. But now that you were involved, Ludwig immediately changed his mentality of the entire matter. And the fact that you were on the side of communist Russia made the situation only worse in his head. He had many sleepless nights of tossing and turning, unable to get some rest. Sometimes he had horrific nightmares that almost seemed like a reality for him. He couldn't shake the disturbing thoughts of the treatment you and Gilbert were receiving. Slaps to the face, verbal and physical abuse, slow torture, blood loss, exhaustion, dehydration, mass shootings and executions...death? It was all too possible, all too real.

Hartwin would usually enter the bedroom to lick the blond man out of the transfixed nightmares. His face would be flushed with concern and those brown, sepia eyes of his would be filled with a childlike sympathy. Ludwig would unintentionally wake his dogs out of their deep slumber from down the hall with his sleep-talk and the occasional mumbled sobs. Sometimes Hartwin had to sleep next to him just so he could relax and drift off to a better sleep. Ludwig would always refuse and try to send the shepard away, but most of the time he would give into the dog's silent and comforting offer and fall asleep next to another warm body. The German didn't want to admit it, but Hartwin's sweet company did make him feel better and he was able to make up a lot of sleep. However, he hated that it took his mind off of his enslaved siblings. He wanted to worry about the two of you all the time than to not worry at all, even if it was temporarily.

With his pulse beating rapidly in his throat, Ludwig reached the meeting room door and gripped the knob, opening the door without hesitation. His sky blue eyes met with Alfred's. The American nation stood up out of his armchair as soon as he saw Ludwig enter the room. His expression was radiant and sunny...annoying like always, but there was a bit of gloom under his eyes, most likely from the past depression. His bright, blue eyes were locked onto the German, but he wasn't wearing his usual glasses. Ludwig thought he looked a bit strange without them, that a bit of his character was missing when he wasn't wearing them. His boastful smile was present, but it was a bit troubled. Ludwig could guess why. Alfred was dressed in a light, tan suit with a black tie than his usual jacket and uniform. Ludwig took it that the American wanted this to be a formal, civil meeting.

"Ludwig." Alfred greeted warmly, putting his hands in his pockets. "Thank you for co-" His words were cut off by Ludwig, who now had impatience in his eyes as well as his tone. "Just tell me the information, Alfred. I don't want to wait six months for a thirty minute welcome party." Ludwig said angrily, his accent was thick over his words. Alfred stared at the German for a second with his mouth parted slightly as if he was trying to find the correct words to say. His smile decreased and his gleeful eyes lowered. Alfred sighed quietly and nodded. "That's what I expected." He mumbled as he sat back down into his chair, the low table was a few inches away from knees. Ludwig noticed a thin file resting on the wooden table along with two mugs filled with plain, steaming, black coffee.

"You might want to sit down for this." Alfred beckoned, waving his hand to the armchair that was on the opposite side of the low coffee table. "We have a lot to discuss." Without any indecision, Ludwig walked straight to his chair and sat down. "Tell me exactly what happened, Alfred." Ludwig glared, his face was filled with nothing but dour, his upper body leaned forward.

Alfred glanced at the thin file and reached for it, taking it into his hands. Ludwig held his breath for a moment as Alfred hesitated. The American sighed. "Before I show you this information, I need to explain a few things. And...it's important that you keep this meeting a secret, that this had never taken place."

Ludwig growled in impatience, but nodded faintly, seeing that Alfred was being completely serious. In fact, this was the first time Ludwig had seen Alfred this grave. After considering for a minute, the American spoke in a more loosened tone. "Alright. Well...how do I start this...?" Alfred mumbled under his breath before starting. "Ever since the Romanovs were killed, I had suspicions on the Soviet Union from the start. The communists had taken over so quickly and in a moment's time. Ever since, I've been trying to keep a keen eye on Ivan, the Kremlin, and his government, but it was nearly impossible because of their restrictions. I knew that they were up to no good, so I came up with ways of gaining information."

Ludwig leaned back and tried to relax himself as the exposition of the meeting played out. Alfred continued. "I sent out a group of men and women into Russia to retrieve bits and pieces of the Union plans. They all went undercover, varying from bread bakers to officers and men in the Red Army. I gave them second identities, making them seem 'all Russian' in their backgrounds. " Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "So, basically spies?"

Alfred nodded, agreeing. "You could call them that. Every few months, I would have them report to me. But if the information was absolutely crucial, they could immediately inform me of the news. However, if they were to check in every day, they are more than likely to get caught by a Union official. Now, I would have them contact me with Morse code since the Russians are very uneducated in it and I have gone out of my way to keep them from learning it. Are you familiar with it?"

Ludwig shook his head lightly. "No, I'm not, but (y/n) is." Alfred understandingly nodded. "You see, the reason why I wanted to have this meeting in person is, because Ivan's officials have learned how to spy on us in a very advanced way. By hacking into telephone calls and listening into conversations. Not only that, but they have sneaked many of their own spies into my country."

Alfred put the file back down onto the table, making Ludwig even more antsy. "Wait." The German suddenly became a bit concerned. "Wouldn't they have heard the conversation over the telephone on the morning that you called me?" Ludwig asked sounding a bit worried. Alfred chuckled. "Yes, but several other countries had found out about (y/n)'s commitment before you. I just happened to find out first, because of my spies. Besides, Ivan practically bragged and showed his prize off when she signed herself off. He even encouraged people to spread the news, in and out of his country. The last thing he wanted (y/n)'s surrender to be is a secret, basically boasting to the entire world."

Alfred stopped himself when he caught Ludwig glaring off to the side. The German's face looked silently furious, yet regretful at the same time. It was almost sad to see him like this. Alfred bit his lip for releasing so much information and commentary, not realizing that your devoted, caring brother was still in the room. Sighing, Alfred apologized. "I'm sorry, Ludwig. I didn't mean-"

"Just go on with what you need to tell me." Ludwig snapped, turning his head and returning his gaze to the file on the table. Alfred could almost feel the heat radiating off of Ludwig, he was almost a fire that could be used for actual warmth. Cautiously, Alfred ceased to make any sort of comments on the entire situation. He did not want to make the German country any more vexed than he already was. Losing his two closest family members was enough for him to handle.

"Right..." Alfred started up again, trying to find the right words. "Well, after Gilbert and (y/n) were taken to Moscow, I had my officials keep their eyes open for any fowl play along the way, in the streets, and in the capitol building. If there's anything I know about Ivan, is that he's not very true to his word...especially to violence."

Ludwig's eyes widened, dilating. "Are you saying that he's already abused my sister and brother?" His voice was a bit raged, but it was controlled enough to be considered a mumble. Alfred raised a hand in reassurance. "We can't be sure of that. We do not think that he has done any harm to them, but we are still unsure of it. It's possible, but we haven't been able to prove that they have been injured. We only have so many people undercover and it will take some time until we recruit more so that we can expand our coverage."

"Also, we have gotten word that Gilbert has been resting and recovering ever since he arrived in Moscow. Apparently, he was taken to Ivan's manor that night and was taken in by the Baltics, Toris, Raivis, and Eduard. The entire house is guarded with soldiers, so it was infeasible for my agents to get near the house or even gain access to it. But it has been proven true that Toris has been taking good care of him and that Gilbert is making a full convalesce. It is even rumored that his eyesight is beginning to come back." Alfred gave Ludwig a small smile, hoping that the bit of good news made Ludwig lease tense.

Ludwig felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, he let out a silent sigh of relief, lowered his face, and closed his eyes, thankful that his older brother was starting to get back on track. After all of the waiting, he was finally aware of his brother's well-being. He was okay. He was afraid that Gilbert would lose his sight forever, until the end of time. The last time he had seen the red garnets, they were ripped open, bleeding tremendously without ever seeming to stop their crimson tears. The thought of Gilbert regaining his eyesight almost made Ludwig tear up. He wanted to give praise to God. Gilbert was going to be alright.

"What about (y/n)?" Ludwig asked, raising his head back up. Alfred's light smile increased a bit, but his eyes showed a little distress. "(Y/n) hasn't shown any physical signs of abuse and she is still tough as nails." Ludwig glanced at his coffee cup and slowly took it in his hands. It was still warm. He sipped it as Alfred continued. "She and Ivan aren't getting along that well, but what can you expect out of that relationship. She wasn't even afraid to insult him in front of his own soldiers. Actually...on the first day, she had apparently socked Ivan in the jaw when she was in the interrogation building."

Ludwig nearly choked on his coffee as it drained down his throat. He furrowed his brows angrily. "Scheisse! Doesn't she know how dangerous that is? She could have gotten herself killed!" Ludwig snapped, as if he was scolding you in person. He placed the coffee cup down onto the table loudly. Thunk! Luckily, he didn't break the cup. Taken aback, Alfred held his breath at the sudden outburst. He thought that the news would make Ludwig smirk, maybe laugh at your action. Ludwig blinked and then grunted at himself.

"I'm sorry, Alfred..." He shook his head, swiping a hand over his slicked hair. "She worries me, you know. I don't care if she's the strongest force in the world, she's still my little sister. And she's so young... I don't want her to get herself into a fight that she can't presume the outcome of." Alfred gave a humble smile. "I understand, Ludwig. I would feel the same way if one of my states did something as crazy as that."

Grabbing the file once more, Alfred opened it and set it down in front of Ludwig, allowing him to see its contents. The blond German hesitated, glanced up at Alfred, and then hungrily took out photo after photo after document after document after letter after letter, going back to the photos again and then back to the letters. Ludwig's heart was pounding rapidly, his pulse deafened his ears as the information and images piled into his head. His eyes ate up every word, every photograph, everything.

In one black and white photo, you were being escorted in the snow covered streets of Moscow with Gilbert directly behind you. Each of your arms were accompanied by a soldier. What looked like a strong grip was placed on both your arms. Ludwig could feel his brows furrow in disgust, his face rising in temperature. This photo definitely made his blood boil in displeasure. He flipped to the next photo.

In the next photo, you were looking...well, glaring up at a very tall man. Ivan. Your face was apathetic, but your brows were in a state of irritation. Ivan, however, was smiling coldly down at you. Ludwig flipped the photo over to see a date on the back. 1/7/46. "Oh, yes. That one was very recent." Alfred said after taking a sip of his coffee. "I received it just a few weeks ago."

Ignoring Alfred, Ludwig scanned a letter that was translated from Morse code to printed letters. It read,

 

_"Mr. Jones, (Country name) has joined the Soviet Union. We have been told by Union soldiers that Mr. Braginski had secretly threatened Miss (Y/n) Beilschmidt with East Germany's existence. In the legal surrender document, it is stated that she will strengthen the Russian army in any way or form that she can. She is going to perform some sort of military demonstration the next week for Mr. Stalin's approval. I will continue to keep you updated throughout the following weeks. Sincerely, Number 14."_

 

Ludwig felt a light sweat coat his forehead. "I...I can't look at these anymore." Ludwig said placing the photos, documents, and letters back into the file folder after thirty minutes of skimming through them, silently. He leaned forward, stroking the slits of his eyes with his thumb and index finger in a stressed, pondering manner. Alfred slid the folder back towards his side of the table, a blank, piteous gaze was trapped in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry about all this, Ludwig. I really am. Hell...I regret all of the negotiating with that Rusk. I thought that...if (y/n) went with Gilbert, he would be protected. But then...Ivan goes and holds Gilbert for ransom unless (y/n) joined the Union. I'm a goddamn fool..."

Ludwig looked up after a minute, his sky blue eyes appeared defeated. "Is there any other information that I should know about?" He mumbled, his accent thickening.

"Well, I am frightfully concerned about your sister training the Red Army. I am just hopeful that she doesn't train them too well. You and I both know she's too smart to let that happen. Communism has been launched into her country for some time and many of her people are fleeing to Sweden, West Germany, and England. And I'm pretty sure you are aware of East Germans flooding towards your country, because of the threat of the communist government." Alfred informed, leaning back into his chair.

Ludwig hummed in agreement. He said nothing else for his mind was somewhere else. All he could think about was the news that he was trying so hard to digest. It was a bitter sweet for him. He was thankful that his siblings were okay and recovering from the horrendous, unforgiving war, but he was depressed at the same time. He hated the fact that you had fallen to the Soviets just so that Gilbert wouldn't be executed. He hated the fact that Gilbert was even possibly planned to be executed. He never loathed Ivan more until now. He dreamed of driving a thick punch to the Russian's childish face. If anything, it would be such a sweet treat for the German.

Alfred watched as Ludwig rose to his feet, startling him. "I think I should be going." Ludwig sighed. "Thank you, Alfred. The information was very reassuring." Alfred rose to his feet as well, his eyes were very concerned.

"Ludwig. If there is anything you need, come to me." Alfred said softly, a pleasant smile spread across his lips. "I will keep you posted if anything drastic happens." Ludwig nodded and turned to the door, walking away from the American nation. He gripped the handle with an uneasy hand and stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Ludwig sauntered down the stretched hallway that now seemed much longer than he remembered. He didn't feel right. He couldn't tell if he was more or less at ease after he came to the meeting. His legs felt heavy, his stomach was twisted, his head was spinning. All of his built-up questions were answered, but he left the meeting room with even more discontent, more distressed than before. The refreshing information was not enough for him. He needed more. He wanted more. Was it that he didn't believe the American nation? Was it that there was more unspoken information? Was it the already uncovered data? Was it the ongoing, negative thoughts that continued to haunt his memories? He didn't know. But all that he wanted, more than anything, was his brother and sister back.

 

 

 

Five years later, November 22nd, 1951 10:17 AM

Taking in a deep breath of icy air, you continued to amble down the snowy street, a cloud of hot breath steadily streamed out of your mouth. It was beginning to snow again, but you knew it was going to be a light storm. Though you were staring down at the ground in front of you, you could see the tiny, frozen bodies flutter softly to the ice-covered street. The sky was grey, white in some places and dark in others. The wind ceased to exist, but the air was still chilly. The tip of your nose was almost numb from the bitter temperature. You adjusted the grey scarf that was wrapped lazily around your neck, covering up your nose and lower face as you walked, shielding the skin from the harsh weather. The length of it was just a few inches past the backs of your legs, nearly touching the ground behind you.

You were still in Moscow, but not in the busy and bustling city where it was impossible to walk enjoyably. You were just on the outskirts where city met country. The area around you was more rural than urban, more empty, snow-covered fields and distant cottages than tall buildings. A few skeletal trees lined the street and what looked like leafless woods surrounded all of the horizons in all directions, where the sky made contact with the earth. A completely white field was to the left of you. You glanced at it. There were little, moving dots of brown and black. Rabbits. Everything seemed to be so peaceful, still, and undisturbed. It was quiet... Almost quiet.

You could barely hear the stalking truck that was many yards behind you, slowly tracking you down the winding road. It was the only drawback you had on the morning walks that you took daily. About three years ago, Ivan allowed you to take walks for various reasons. The number one reason was that he wanted you to keep your physique in shape. He did not want you to lose any muscle mass or desirable strength even though you trained the army nearly everyday. The other reason was that it annoyed him that you were unable to sleep and relax. He would come to your room some nights to see that you were awake, gazing out the tall window with your arms at your side, watching the snow pile up in the streets. You would always catch him and glare at him in a sort of sleepy state. He would glare back and enter your room, demanding that you to go to bed. Sometimes you would obey and slink back to bed. But for the majority of the time, you would refuse and stay awake.

Even after five years, you did not trust Ivan at all when it came to gaining rest or eating the food he provided you with. You were alert when a single creak or grate emitted from your room, the hallway, and Ivan's room. There was still that high percentage that Ivan would try to rape you the moment you let your guard down. A number of times in the past, he would pet your hair in public or after a day of training with the occasional, tender grasps of your jaw in his hand. It was, indeed, sexual harassment, but you expected it from a corrupt country, especially Russia. It was far beyond annoying, it was repulsive and loathsome.

However, with all of the objectionable treatment that you received from the Russian and his officials, you were somewhat thankful that you were able to wander whenever you needed to, with the accompany of a guard of course in case you decided to escape. It gave you a bit of freedom and bliss, and at the same time, it made Ivan less irritated. But the times that he was away at his manor, you didn't know whether to be anxious or grateful. You would be pleased with the temporary absence of Ivan hawking your every move. You never saw the demonic Volkov again, another problem that seemed to have disappeared. But you would be nervous as all get out when Ivan left for his seasonal breaks, because Gilbert was at the manor. As his sister, you knew that once he was back to his normal, vulgar self, there was no doubt he would distastefully object to Ivan's policies. It would possibly get himself a fowl slap across the face or a bruised eye.

You had found out from Ivan that Toris and the other Baltics had been taking care of him. You felt the prolonged knots in your stomach unwind when you were told that Gilbert was healing and that he would be able to regain his vision soon. But you knew that once he made a full recovery, communism would be launched into him, and God knows what his health will decline to after that. He was nearly human. A still weak human to be exact.

Some days, you pondered about Ludwig and how he was handling things in his own country. Alfred had been helping him out since the separation and you silently appreciated that, though you personally disliked the bumptious American. Ludwig had accepted and established a new, democratic government, which would hopefully get him back in the right position in the world. Oh...you couldn't imagine how worried he must be about you and Gilbert. But there was nothing you could do to communicate with him. Not even letters were permitted to be sent. Ivan forbid the slightest thought of it.

"Beilschmidt!" A voice hollered out in thick Russian. Sighing softly under your breath, you paused in your tracks, ceasing to continue your untroubled walk down the road. You looked over your shoulder to see a soldier approach you halfway, a rifle was cradled in his arms like a beloved child. You pulled the scarf off of your nose and mouth. "You have reached your limited boundary line. We must turn around and head back." You gave a curt nod, turned, and walked the direction that you came, passing the armed soldier without making any eye contact. Soon, you passed the truck, its exhaust pipe was puffing out black gas that reached your nose, almost making you cough. After a minute, you heard the engine rev up and turn around from behind you.

Snow was starting to fall a bit harder now, but not heavily enough to make you stop and climb inside the truck. Delicately, snowflakes stuck to your (h/l), (h/c) hair and dark coat in small piles. You shook your head and brushed them off your shoulders, then pulling the scarf over your nose and mouth again. The snow just never seemed to stop falling. It was always there, even in the summers. Even though you were a northern country who was used to the coldest of cold temperatures and whether, you were beginning to hate it. It wasn't just the cold snow, whether, or Russian, it was just the definition of cold. Unrelenting, callous, and happily hostile.


	13. Doze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More creepy Russia. This chapter is a bit long and it's going to be mainly focused on you, Ivan, and Gilbert. The next chapter will get very intense, so stay tuned! Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and hits! :D Over 1300 baby!

4 years later, June 5th, 1955 Ivan's manor 2:30 PM

The ground was green. Finally, it was green. No snow. No ice. Just lush green grass and a blue sea of sky with the scattered, floating, white islands of clouds. The afternoon sun was out and high in the sky, the warmth of its rays heated up the earth, but the air was still quite chilly, not chilly enough to wear a heavy sweater though. The ivory painted wood of the windowsill was intensely hot, but the intense heat felt pleasant on Gilbert's bony fingertips. He had been so completely drained from the ongoing snow storms and fogged windows. Though there were many days in the past years that had been sunny and warm, Gilbert wasn't able to get out of bed and see or feel the world for himself. He had nearly forgotten what the sun felt like, how enjoyable its heated, passionate beams were on his pale, white skin.

Lifting his hand to the window pane, Gilbert felt the cold glass turn his fingertips back to a cool temperature. It had been ten long years of imprisonment and four of those years he had been blind. He wanted to go outside, to get out of the almost too familiar house that he was trapped and tethered to. It was as if the world outside was teasing him, baiting him. But a move like that would get him a buckshot in the shoulder, or any part of his body for that matter. And he wasn't in the shape to receive that kind of injury. In all honesty, he thought that if he was shot, all that would fly out of the hole would be bone fragments and bloodless flesh. No blood. No organs. Just bone. He felt that that was all he was made of now even though he had put on a better amount of weight since his arrival. The disappearance of his ribs wasn't enough to make him think any different.

The albino had no idea that Ivan's home was so far out, away from the city and civilization. It was hard to believe that he was still in the city's district. He couldn't spot a single house, cottage, or shack from any of the windows in the manor. The colossal house was completely isolated with the acceptance of the animals outside. All of the horizons were thick, green forest and the area around the manor was viridescent field. A few close and lined shrubs gave Gilbert the indication that a fence used to stand there. Vaguely, he could hear the high-pitched chatter of the almost invisible birds that hopped in the nearby bushes and the fairly tall grass. Like a flash, they fluttered away as a pair of patrolling soldiers trudged by on their daily guard around the manor.

Gilbert sighed. He thought of the bright yellow bird that he knew for so long, the one that always flew onto his head and rustled in his silvery white hair. Gilbert remembered how much the little bird annoyed him when he was just a boy, with the clingy behavior that the bird possessed. But after a few years of having the tiny yellow puffball with him, Gilbert grew to love the cheeping thing. Gilbird he called him. He couldn't think of a better name. The chick liked the name as well, adored it even. Piyo, piyo he would chirp. Gilbert began to smile somewhat as he recollected the memories of Elizabeth's comments on the bird's name, how conceited and egotistic of Gilbert to entitle his pet after his own name.

The albino recalled the days when you and Ludwig were just children, playing in the vast woods with the tiny bird, engaging in a game of hide and seek or splashing the clear water in the shallow streams. It was strange that the bird followed the Beilschmidt family, acting like some kind of parrot or messenger hawk, but Gilbert wasn't complaining. But as the decades flew by and when the war came, Gilbert had to keep Gilbird at home in his cage. He didn't want to risk the live of one of his longest living family members. Occasionally, he would have Ludwig feed and take care of him when he was away, working on the eastern front with you at his side after the battle for Stalingrad came into the picture. Now it seemed like Ludwig would need to care for his little, flaxen bird for a while. He missed him dearly. It didn't help that Gilbird was the same shade as Ludwig's hair. Yellow.

Knock. Knock. "Gilbert." Toris called from behind the door. Silence. Gilbert continued to gaze out of the window, he could just make out his reflection in the glass, his red eyes staring back at him. There were a few pale scars that trailed on the corners of his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. They would soon disappear within the years just like the scars on his arms and the gash on his side. He blinked slowly, sighing. "Just come in, Toris." Gilbert said, putting his hands back to his sides. He didn't turn when the door creaked open and the Lithuanian entered the room. "I just came to bring you lunch." Toris said softly. Gilbert watched Toris's reflection as he carried a tray of food to the nightstand and set it down. His medium, shoulder length hair was tied up in a thin ribbon, but a few stubborn locks of his umber hair remained free. Gilbert would take note of this, that the only times when Toris would tie up his hair was when he was cleaning or swinging a sword around. The second option was definitely out of the question since that hasn't happened for several decades.

"Um...I was wondering if you wanted to come down later and play Cheat with Raivis." Toris said as he stopped near the bed. "He's been asking for a couple of days now." Gilbert lowered his face and inhaled with a growl. He just wanted Toris to leave. "Out of all the people in this house, why does he want me?" He said with irk in his voice, his brows furrowed slightly. "Why can't you?"

Gilbert had only seen the Latvian at dinner and in the living room, and the two never really conversed with each other. Sometimes Gilbert would catch Raivis staring at him intently when they were eating or when they were all lounging in the living room after lunch. Gilbert found Raivis silently annoying, almost like the one housefly that you could not get rid of, and he never perceived any children or adolescents as irritating. Gilbert was just glad that they all didn't sit down together at dinner when Ivan temporarily came home. No body wanted to dine with him at the table. But when the Russian was away, most nights Gilbert would force himself to come down to dinner and engage with the Baltics and their 'Hushes'. Not that Gilbert really cared for the food, but he desired to hear the news about you and occasionally express the way he felt about everything, commenting what he wanted. Hushes were the only time when he and the Baltics could be completely uncensored.

"Well," Toris began with a sigh, "I have to clean today and Eduard is too busy chopping wood for the upcoming fall." Gilbert clenched his jaw, his pale cheeks and the tips of his ears began to rise in heat. "What about all of these soldiers? All they do is stand around and do nothing." He muttered lowly, not wanting the nearby guards to hear his comment, though he somewhat wished they could. Toris exhaled, his green eyes softened as he approached the albino, then stopping a foot behind him. "You do know that they aren't the nicest people, Gilbert." Toris whispered. Over the years, the Lithuanian had gotten used to Gilbert's stubborn, immature, and rude behavior. But for the most part, Gilbert was very cold to the Baltics and not very friendly.

There was no doubt in Toris's mind that it was because of the separation and that one night that Ivan came home. Toris had hid in the neighboring room to Gilbert's, listening to the heated conversation through the wall. He remembered his heart pounding out of his chest when he heard about the vile thing Ivan had done to you, and hearing it come straight from the Russian's mouth made it worse. He couldn't even pick up his feet when Ivan supposedly choked and slapped Gilbert across the face. He desperately desired to stop the quarrel, but he couldn't fight the fear that nailed him in place, the fear that he would be punished for standing up and intruding on Ivan. It almost made Toris vomit out of fear, and he nearly cried along with Gilbert's soft sobs. But now that the entire situation was in the past, there was only silent hate. Toris was hoping that the new government setup of the GDR in East Germany would make Gilbert less of a pain, but no such thing happened. "I'm just asking if you could do me this favor. Raivis doesn't have any friends beside me and Eduard."

Discourteously, Gilbert expressed a pfft and snickered offensively. "That's sad." He scoffed, shaking his head. Toris frowned and sighed through his nose. "Please, Gilbert..." He pleaded. "It's all I ask." A few seconds of complete silence filled the room and there was no answer from the German. Toris inhaled and walked towards the door. "Alright." He said, sounding defeated and without another word, he left the room to attend to his chores.

About twenty minutes passed and Gilbert was already finished with his lunch. After wandering back to the window to take one more glance, he rolled his vermilion eyes and groaned under his breath, furrowing his brows. He adjusted the long sleeves of the grey shirt he was wearing. "Why does that fool always make me feel so goddamn guilty?" He muttered, sounding like a growling, raspy dog. He turned on his heal in a provocative motion and headed out of his bedroom, storming quietly down the hallway to find the Latvian boy.

 

 

 

June 19th, 1955 The Kremlin 5:45 PM

Ivan lifted his slanted gaze from the paper he was peacefully reading as a nearby church tower rang its tune for the third quarter of the hour. He then glanced lazily at the small clock that sat on the fireplace mantel from across the large, personal office. 5:45 pm. Ivan raised his head off of his gloved fist, he turned his head to the window that was directly behind him. The sky was still blue and littered with soft, white clouds, but there was a hint of orange and pink off to the west and the sky was darkening somewhat in the east. It didn't snow that day and it didn't look like the nasty blizzards would come crawling back any time soon, but there was still a bit of chilliness in the air, almost like an autumn breeze. It wasn't brisk enough for a fire, but if you stood as still as you could, you would feel a chill clamber up your spine. Everything was green now and very verdant in vegetation. People came out more and went about their business in the summer months, buying and storing food for the harsh and deadly winter like squirrels and other animals that hibernate. It was conclusively a welcoming month of weather.

Ivan glanced back at the small clock once more and set down his paper, he rubbed his head tiredly. His entire month had been taken up with dull, nagging paperwork and busy schedules that consumed his time with flights and late night escorts that journeyed on till the crack of the orange dawn. It was quite grueling for him. You were definitely back in your room by now. Your day of instructing always started at 11:00 in the morning and ended at 5:00 in the afternoon. It was forty five minutes past the hour. Only so often Ivan would check on you after work and the visit was always short and frigid, your conversation was only made up of a few quick words. "I'm fine." or "Whatever you need, I don't have it." and the most common reply "Get out."

For the first couple of years, Ivan would smirk and sometimes chuckle at you, expecting the snide and dismissive remarks that exhaled through your mouth. But over time, he had gotten tired of the same, negative replies. No matter what he asked of you, you wouldn't change mood or react to a pushed button. Even when he mentioned Gilbert, you would not shift your glare. He guessed that you thought he was kidding you since he pretty much threatened the GDR constantly if you did not obey his orders. "This is getting quite old, Braginski. It's been fucking years since you started waving your false, red flags." You would mutter coldly, occasionally rolling your (e/c) eyes of to the side, your brows furrowing indifferently. However, Ivan was a bit glad that you still kept your simmering loath on him. He actually believed that your hate had grown larger since then. It was one of the only powers he had over your way of thinking. _Well, I should probably go check on her._ Ivan thought to himself after he put his work folders and paperwork away. _I have nothing better to do._

Picking up his hat and placing it on his head comfortably, he stood up and adjusted his lengthy, white scarf, covering up more of his neck. Just as he was about to leave, his violet eyes wandered to the lifeless fireplace where, just off to the side, an old acquaintance leaned against the stone. The pipe. It was incredibly ancient with all of its metallic glint, but the spout told its real age from all of the rust around the rim. Though Ivan was recorded carrying the object with him constantly, he never really used the strangely durable weapon. It had been years since he last held it in his hands, he had forgotten how it felt wrapped tightly in his fists as he swung down, splitting the skull of a helpless opponent.

The rush that it brought gave him was such thrill, adrenaline would hurriedly flood his heart with a sick pleasure. It was a rapture to him to feel the blood spray onto his face and hands, beading glossily down his chin and neck, staining his clothing. The pipe would drip with the thick, crimson liquid after the objective was completed. But now those days were over and long gone, though the realities of war and brutality gave Ivan more than pleasure. Nowadays, he didn't feel the need to get his hands dirty, setting that job aside for soldiers and lieutenants while he worked in the capitol. Only rarely did he get angry and break a few things with the pipe, but he mostly stared at it blankly when he ran out of paperwork. Ripping his gaze from the metal object, he finished adjusting his scarf and walked towards the door.

 

 

 

6:00 PM The Kremlin Your room

There was a soft knock on your door just as you pulled on a dark green sweater that was a bit oversized for you. The sleeves reached past your hands, literally consuming them from visibility. Your legs were clothed with a pair of ebony, skinny-fitted pants which you normally wore to bed though they were meant for combat, but they were oddly comfortable. Your bare feet were cold and begging for the warmth of your socks and the needed rest from the long day of relentless training. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair was brushed and slightly damp from the hot and pleasant shower that you had taken fifty minutes ago, but the majority of your hair was dry and back to the way it normally was.

Clenching your jaw, you turned your face to the door, glaring at the mahogany wood. _I wonder who that could be..._ You sarcastically and angrily scoffed in your head as you ambled over to the door, pushing your sleeves up to where your hands could be seen. You thought that it was obviously Ivan coming to check on you which he did everyday. "A damn thorn in my side..." You whispered almost inaudibly. All you wanted to do at this hour was fall into your light sleep and enjoy the rest of your evening staring up at the ivory ceiling or allow your eyes to wander out the window. But amazingly, you were able to put up with the Russian hawk for ten years. You gripped the knob, twisted it. After you gently opened the door, your head immediately tilted up to meet with the almost too familiar violet eyes. Ivan smiled down at you, the color in his eyes seemed to lighten to a shade of lilac.

"Afternoon, milaya." He greeted softly, just showing his top row of teeth. You gave him an indifferent look, keeping your (e/c) eyes locked with his. "How was your day?" He asked trying to sound naive. "Cut the crap. What do you want, Ivan?" You snapped, low enough for it to be considered a mutter. The tips of your ears began to simmer with an angry heat and the pit of your stomach knotted and strained.

To no surprise, Ivan's smirk grew slightly, his eyes were still intense and harsh. "Well, I've been thinking," He began, his accent was heavy, "you and I have been working pretty hard for a while. And, I have to admit, we did get a little off on the wrong foot. Not to mention the fact that we don't converse to each other that much, and I feel a little bad about leaving you here all alone every few months." He goaded, you didn't really see where he was getting at.

You raised an eyebrow in irritated amazement. "And you just now realize this?" You scoffed, tightening your loose grip on the wood of the door. Ivan narrowed his eyes, they became a bit colder. "Let's not get ugly." He glared, his teeth gritted in his bitter smile. Inhaling quietly, you kept your nettled comments bottled as Ivan began to speak again. "It's been a while since I went out and Volkov usually goes along with me. But I'm afraid he is off taking care of a few things for me in St. Petersburg. So, I thought maybe we could go out and get a drink later tonight, my treat of course. Maybe start over, get to know each other better since we only know each other's militia records. It could be quite enjoyable to stroll down the street with a new, fellow comrade."

Narrowing your eyes, you stared at him as if you were trying to read his infuriating thoughts. After a few moments of a problematic silence, you scoffed again, this time much more crossed. "What are you playing at?" There were countless explanations that swirled around in your head as to why Ivan sprung up and asked you the strange and suspicious offer. One, he wanted something from you in the future. Two, he was going to try and drug you. Three, he was attempting to befriend you for personal gain and so forth. The list of clarifications went on and on in your mind. Was this some sort of joke?

Ivan smiled wider as if he had nothing to hide beneath his sweet countenance. He shook his head lightly and spoke gaily. "Nothing at all. Just wanting a healthier friendship is all." Twitching your brows in confusion and perplexity, you coiled and uncoiled your free hand that hung limp at your side. This was a trap. "And, after so many years, you've decided this now?" You asked slowly, making Ivan's offer sound completely unsystematic, not making any sense.

Sighing, Ivan's entire sweet demeanor dropped to the floor and shattered into several fragments. His present face was now filled with nothing but impatience and discontent, his brows were stern as well as his purple eyes and his pale, solemn lips. "Look, this is your only offer to go outside without the need for guards. Now, do you want to get a drink or not?" He muttered bitterly, almost hissing like a serpent. Slightly smirking angrily and offensively, you gave a curt chuckle in your throat. "Not with you, of course." You simply said, wanting to end the sullen conversation. Though you were taking this entire proposal as an unbelievable joke, you saw this a way of Ivan trying to play with you, try to crack into you by approaching you with a 'befriend and take' tactic. His reasoning was a symphony of bullshit in your heated ears.

The towering Russian nearly squinted his eyes in a sort of disbelief, returning a snicker of his own towards you, cocking his head to the side. "Well, isn't this a first. I've never heard a Germanic turn down an opportunity for alcohol." He teased offensively, his obnoxious smile returning to his lips. You shot him an apathetic look, exhaling hot air through your nose quietly. You said nothing more, awarding Ivan with an uncomfortable silence. You no longer wished to speak with him.

After a humiliating minute, Ivan straightened his posture and inhaled under his breath, shallowly. "Suit yourself, my Nazi." He muttered in Russian with tetchy and defeated tension. And without another word, he turned and headed down the hall towards his room. You carefully watched him leave and you then closed the door. Though he was many rooms away from you now, you could still hear the faint thud of his heavy boots on the wooden floors. After turning and facing your room, you couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut. You clamped your eyelids together so hard that you could almost see red, a sort of maroon or dark brown. Bringing your hands up, you rubbed your eyes with your fingers, hard.

It was infuriating. Antagonizing. Tiring. You felt that you would give anything at this point to make the callous Soviet detach from you completely, to just get away from the damn man. Even just facing him drained you of so much precious energy. After so many years, he did no such thing as to take you anywhere, nor did he say he was going to, but he chooses to do so now? Had it really been ten years of this childish behavior? Of this mind-pricking maneuvering of his? You pressed harder on your eyes. What happened moments ago was an all out clusterfuck. You wanted to forget it. You needed to forget it. If you weren't able to drink it away tonight, you had other ways of abandoning the recent, painful endurance.

 

9:30 PM

Three hours you waited for Ivan to leave the Kremlin. A long wait, but you were used to lengthy interludes. Ivan had gone out about twenty minutes ago. You sat tight for the extra time to make sure he was actually gone. Many times in the past, you couldn't help but noticed that the door to your room had a simple lock only on the inside, not the outside. It was a bit strange to you at first and you didn't care for using it, only desiring to use it for an important reason. You thought that if you kept locking your door, Ivan would have it removed just to have full surveillance on you. It was highly likely that if he saw that your door was locked, he would let it slide, because of the conversation earlier. For the first couple of years, your room was guarded by two soldiers out in the hallway, keeping a sharp eye on you if you ever tried to escape during the night. But soon, the Union suddenly ceased their guard on you at night since the entire perimeter was incredibly secure and breach proof.

Quietly, you locked the door. Click. Then, you silently walked over to the window and pulled the thick, white curtains closed, covering every seam of the dark world that slept outside. You then headed into the dark, adjoining bathroom. You opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small bottle. You turned it over, checking its label. Sleeping pills. Ivan had given you the tablets many years ago, but you refused them and never intended to use them for obvious reasons. But you had used sleeping pills before, back in Berlin. Some nights when you seriously needed sleep, you took them. Sleeping pills had a strange toll on you. The little drug stole a lot of stress from you, sometimes they bailed you out of negative occurrences and thoughts. Only rarely did that happen. It had been nearly two decades since you had taken them. But tonight was one of those nights and you weren't slacking on any precautions. You were jeopardizing vulnerability, rape, even mutilation for a few long hours of slumber. This was the biggest risk you were taking since your arrival.

Slowly, you read the small, Cyrillic print on the side of the bottle. The directions read: _Take one pill every 24 hours. One pill covers five hours of sleep. DO NOT take more than one pill every 24 hours. Over-dosage can lead to serious health risks._

You unscrewed the bottle and shook out one, small, white tablet into the palm of your hand. Carefully setting the pill down onto the rim of the sink, you closed the bottle and placed it back into the medicine cabinet. You closed the cabinet's door and picked up the pill, placing it in your mouth, not swallowing the capsule yet. Already, you could taste the chalky, bitter drug break down on your tongue. You turned on the water in the sink and cupped your hands, taking a mouthful of water. You swallowed hurriedly, ingesting the pill.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you walked over to your nightstand. Hesitating, your fingers touched the switch to the small, glowing lamp. You weren't quite sure if you had made the right decision in taking the pill. You were risking yourself just for a few hours of sleep. Luckily, you had the liberating option to head back to the bathroom and force yourself to vomit the drug up. But all you desired to receive at the moment was sleep. Nothing but a deep, drowning pit of relaxing and rapturous blackness. A slumber that could clog your ten year memory of wake up, walk, instruct, face the devil, go to bed, repeat. There was not a single memory of Gilbert, Ludwig, or any other Axis member in the prolonged decade, so you did not care if any recollection in the past ten years was missing from your brain. It was not important at all. In fact, it was all a nagging inconvenience that deserved to be forgotten.

Snapping yourself from the indecision, you turned off the lamp. Your room was swept up by a dark blue gloom, it was almost soothing. Gently, you laid down on the flat center of the bed and curled up on your side, not wanting the company of your pillow. You decided not to cover yourself with any blankets for the air was far more snug without them. A sort of haziness was suppressing your (e/c) eyes as you gazed at the locked door. The pill was already working. Uneasiness bottled in your chest as you continued to stare at it. _There's no way he can get in here. The door only locks from the inside and the window is two stories high. Stop worrying so much._  You snapped at yourself internally, softly biting the inside of your cheeks out of anxiety. But you couldn't stop yourself from pondering about Ivan's reappearance. Him opening the door as if it were never locked to find you sleeping heavily, unable to wake up easily and take a stance. His cruel, violet eyes staring down at you sinfully happy as he stroked your jaw and petted your (h/l), (h/c) hair in his large hands. It didn't frighten you, but at the same time, it did.

Tsking, you turned over, facing away from the apprehensive door. Don't look at it. Instead, you stared blankly at the curtained window. Just barely, you could hear the almost too familiar sounds of the miserable city. Occasional vehicles honked at one another along with the share of angry, Slavic curses. Distant locomotives wailed with their harsh, deafening whistles in the train yard that was half way across town, keeping even the sleepiest ally cats awake. Far off, a few dogs barked and bayed at each other from yard to yard, apartment to apartment. The wind picked up outside, whirling its chilly gusts through the dark streets, scuttling dry, lifeless leaves on the stiff ground. Not even Berlin was this boisterous at night. The remote racket was beginning to run off, becoming more and more muted. Your eyes slowly blurred and before you knew it, they closed shut. A sudden gloom tenderly waved over your intellect and you were asleep.

 

 

7:30 AM

Rolling over, your eyes squinted tiredly. Your vision was fuzzy, but you could make out some of the furniture in your room. You curled up a bit more as the morning sunrise shined mellowly through the curtains, painting the white wall a sunny, cadmium yellow. The air was cozy and a bit stuffy, but it was pleasant on your (s/c) skin and it warmed your tired lungs. Just barely, you could hear the wind pick up and howl past the window, the scuttling of dry leaves danced on the ground outside. Even though you were several feet away from the window, you could feel the chilliness of the outside air radiating off of the glass. As the amicable morning came to be, your sight became much more clear. You glanced at the small arms on the clock that sat on the nightstand. 7:40.

Closing your eyes once more, you sighed jadedly. The sleep that you acquired was relieving, definitely refreshing, and well needed. You hated to admit that it felt wonderful. You actually wanted to slumber longer and nothing could stop you from doing so for another hour. But it wasn't the best idea. Soon, Ivan would come and knock on your door to wake you up for the day. Blinking your eyes open, you sat up with a soft groan, your entire upper body leaned over your knees. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair hung in your face, some strands tickled your skin. With your fingers, you brushed your hair back with a lazy stroke as you swung your legs over, sitting on the side of the bed. The tips of your toes just touched the cold, wood floor. You then rubbed the inner corners of your eyes, making sure they were fully awake. Peering over your shoulder wearily, you contemplated getting up and dressing or falling back into the comforting arms of your bed.

It was strange. You didn't exactly care for sleep, not to mention the many factors that followed your insomnia. In fact, it badgered you. It usually slowed you down and taunted you, laughing at you, always there to wave and say goodnight and never take you with it for several hours. Even when you were able to catch some z's, it never left you well rested, but it was enough to keep you energized. But today you wanted to go back to sleep. You wanted to go back to sleep... Shaking the thought from your mind, you turned your head back in front of you.

 _Get up._ You growled internally. As you glanced at your dresser, something didn't look right. You suddenly paused and your eyes widened with a startling fear. Staring at the object that sat comfortably on the dresser, your mind went completely white and your stomach dropped and cringed, tangling into a thousand cramped knots. A sharp, icy knife sank into the back of your head as your breathing ceased. You stood up and rushed to the dresser, snatching the beer bottle in one quick, fluid motion. You glared down at it with wide, vexed eyes, enough anger to make the brown-stained bottle shatter under such furious pressure. It was abhorrence. An ugly, snarling, scratching creature that kept ripping and gnawing at your brain, your head, your stomach, your lungs.

The cheap bottle of alcohol wasn't there before you went to bed. The beer was warm in your hands, meaning that it had been sitting on the dresser for quite some time. Six, maybe seven hours. The liquid on the inside sloshed and foamed as you read the small tag that was tied around the top of the bottle. Your teeth clenched and your brows furrowed murderously. It read: _Sleep well, milaya._

Your grip on the bottle tightened, turning your knuckles white. It was as if your brain suddenly burst into a apoplectic fire, spitting its flames into the rest of your body. The cozy air in your lungs rose to a fiery, hellish temperature. The crimson blood in your veins boiled with outrage as you hurriedly stormed into the bathroom. You swung the medicine cabinet door open and seized the bottle of sleeping pills with a rough swipe. Popping the lids of both bottles open, you emptied the entire bottle of pills into the beer, both lids fell onto the tile floor. A few tablets scattered and bounced in the bowl of the sink, but you quickly and hastily washed them down the drain, shoving some of the stubborn pills down with your hands.

Once you were finished emptying the pill bottle, you promptly rushed to the window with the bottle firmly grasped in your hand, pulling the curtains away. You unlocked the window, pushing the pane up to where it was fully open and far above your head. With the bottle in your hand, you raised it. And with a burst of fuming hatred, you threw the bottle out the window, launching it like it was a threatening, lethal grenade. After a second, there was a pop and a shatter. The bottle had broken. Breathing slowly, but indignantly, you stared out the window. You spotted the broken beer bottle several yards away on the empty, cobblestone street. Its contents were scattered and foamed in the creamy, alcoholic bubbles. You could just barely see the tiny, white pills in the liquid.

Now that the infuriating object was gone, you turned on your heel and strode to the door. Reaching out, you gripped the doorknob and twisted it... It was still locked. You furrowed your brows in maddened confusion. This was impossible. _No._ There had to be another lock or a keyhole or something. You felt and looked around the door. Nothing. Not a single indication of a hidden keyhole. "How?" You asked yourself in a hushed voice. _How did he get in? How did he manage this?_ You began to panic as more and more horrific questions blasted and paraded your thoughts. Did he rape you again? Did he inflict harm on you? What did he do while you were asleep?

As more loads of pressure and fear weighed on your shoulders and stomach, you unlocked your door and opened it. You strode down the lengthy hallway to Ivan's room, you could feel your fists bawl into iron as you neared his wide-opened door. Your legs stopped walking when he suddenly stepped out of his room. He was right there in front of you. If you hadn't been so careful with your footing, the two of you would have crashed into each other. Startled, you took a step back. You tilted your head up and glared at him threateningly. As usual, the sadistic Russian smiled down at you with his soft, lilac eyes lazily gazing down at you.

"Good morning." He purred contentedly, looking obviously aware of your present emotions. He was fully dressed in his uniform, his long, white scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. "You're out of your room quite early. Is something wrong?"

"How?" You growled angrily, narrowing your eyes at him. Ivan cocked his head to the side a bit. "How what?" He asked in a faked, confused tone. His smile became much more smug and his eyes washed into a mischievous hue. It pissed you off.

"How did you get in?" You snapped lowly, almost gritting your teeth. "In where?" He chuckled, his teeth barely showing. "In my room dammit." You muttered with a bit of rasp in your voice, annoyed with the Russian's childish behavior. After a moment, he answered. "Oh." He said like he had just remembered the recent memory. "You mean last night." You fought the persistent urge to slap him across the face, maybe break his bulbous nose.

Irritated, you sighed under your breath. "Well," Ivan began like he was telling you a story, "a little after 11:00, I became a bit tired, so I decided to leave a bit earlier than I planned. But I felt a little bad about the way I treated you before I left, so I got you something. I thought it would make you happy since you probably haven't had a drink in years. When I got back, I went to your room, but your door was locked. I figured you were still mad at me for our little...argument." He sneered wider as he continued. "But I was glad I had a special way of getting your door unlocked. Once I opened the door, I saw that you were sound asleep." He narrowed his eyes mockingly at you. "I guessed that you took the sleeping pills I gave you all those years ago. You're an insomniac without them."

You proceeded to glare at him, listening to everything he had to say. "Anyways," he began again, "I decided to let you sleep and I left you your gift on your dresser. Then, I left your room and locked the door, just how you had it."

After a moment of tense silence, you muttered at him threateningly. "You're just fucking with me?" The Russian laughed quietly under his breath. "Nyet, milaya. I did that a long time ago." He chuckled, his face was even more taunting. Staring up at him with hot blood rushing in your ears, you bit your tongue out of anger. You couldn't cope with the Slavic bastard any longer. This was the final straw. What made him think that he could push you around like this and mess with your head in such a revolting manner? You didn't care if world war three erupted at this moment if you threw the punch. The harassment had to stop. Even if he didn't do any harm, it teased you, even frightened you. He knew how you felt. The man needed to have his ass handed to him. Now.

He gave a curt titter in his throat. "But watching you sleep was possibly the sweetest thing I have ever seen. So peaceful compared to your normal self." He goaded with a cruel smirk. "You'd best get ready for the day. I hope you enjoyed your treat." He then turned and strode down the hallway casually, his scarf swinging limply behind him. You watched him disappear down the stairs. He was gone once again.

Everything was aflame. Your brain, your lungs, your stomach, your ears, your eyes, even your feet. You were fire. A brutal, walking mess of heat. The feeling was almost indescribable. If you weren't dead and cooking in hell already, you didn't know what hell even was. You wanted to cry...no, you wanted to punch, bite, kick, fling, bash, smash, smack, slap. Something! All you felt was hate. It ate away at everything. You felt your brows loosen a little, your expression going straight, blank, phlegmatic. Why did it have to hurt? Why did it have to be contained? How could you have been so foolish? Your face flushed with an unexplainable heat. No. It was definitely familiar, not a stranger at all. They were tears.


	14. Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will contain a lot of sadness and more tension between the reader and Ivan. So, for me, school is going to be coming up and some chapters may be delayed, but I will work as hard and as fast as I can with this fic. Thank you for the hits, kudos, and comments! Enjoy!

3 years later, August 12th, 1958 6:15 AM, Beilschmidt Residence

"Piyo, piyo." After buttoning his white, long sleeve shirt, Ludwig glanced at the door that was across the hall, facing his wide open doorway. His blue eyes were stern, yet relaxed at the same time. The little, yellow bird was cheeping from within the closed room. Ludwig sighed softly and mumbled under his breath as he picked up the tie that was laying on his dresser. "I'll be right there." He quickly fastened his tie under the collar of his shirt and headed to Gilbert's room. Every morning, Gilbird would peep for food or attention, depending on the time of day. Just when dawn crept over the horizon, Gilbird cried for his seeds and the occasional bits of bread.

Ludwig had to admit, taking care of the chick wasn't an easy chore for him. Since he was basically Gilbert's pet, Ludwig had no idea how needy the little bird was, because he never took care of him for more than a few weeks. You took care of him for the most part, since you had the time and the patience. Just a month before the end of the war, Gilbert requested assistance from you to guard troops on the Eastern Front. You immediately left, delegating the task of caring for Gilbird in Ludwig's already occupied hands. Now that it had been thirteen years, he felt like he was an expert at taking care of birds.

Grabbing the doorknob and twisting it, Ludwig opened the door to his brother's room and walked in. The air was cool in Gilbert's room, almost crisp. With the creeping sunrise just beyond the horizon, the white walls and dark furniture had a sort of sleepy, blue tint to them. There were two, wide windows in the room, both streaming the sky's awakening, azure color. On the left wall, there hung a Prussian flag from a wall-flag holder. The white and black flag was a bit stained with anomalous, dark spots that Ludwig couldn't figure out and wash. The bed was empty and unused, but not unclean. Just like any other room in the house, Ludwig would dust and clean every inch of Gilbert's room, your's too. It was just an unexplained part of Ludwig's habit in cleaning.

About four pictures stood on the tall dresser, two of which were of Ludwig and you. The other two were of whole Germanic family. Ludwig's eyes avoided the photos. Instead of giving him hope and consolation, they brought him too much discomfort. Too many times in the past, Ludwig would stare and gape at the photographs until he felt his eyes water. All of those times he couldn't tell if the tears were out of sorrow or the prolonged time that he didn't blink. The faces in the photos would just stare right back at him with the exception of you. You had your usual, indifferent expression, no smile to be seen. The rest were beaming at him, grinning at him. Teasing him. _Don't look at them..._ He internally told himself, quivering his brows in slight annoyance. A thick, hazel-brown desk sat near one of the windows, and on the desk was a small bird cage with a little, yellow puff of downy feathers on the inside.

Gilbird twitched his tiny head up at the German, his black eyes focused on him. "Piyo." He peeped again, hopping twice side to side on his little, wooden perch. Ludwig picked up the small bag of seed that was next to the cage. Carefully, he opened the small door of the cage and took out the food dish. He poured the little grains of seed into it. Gilbird sat patiently on his perch, cocking and twitching his head at Ludwig in curiosity. Then, Ludwig set the dish back inside the cage, and closed the door, latching it. Immediately, Gilbird flew to the dish and pecked up the seed, vigorously.

Ludwig smiled faintly. It is rumored that nations and their pets had a connection, a percentage of one embodiment, a strong bond. The loyal companions have been told to have the same physical health and feelings as the owner, like a soul with two halves. Kiku had the same connection with his dog, Pochi. And so did Francis with his bird, Pierre. Though the physical and mental link between nation and pet was rejected and rumored by many, Ludwig believed in the strange and paranormal narrative. It was indeed odd that Ludwig would swallow such a tale and accept that it was true, but he had seen such occurrences himself.

The night that Ludwig got home after the war, he found Gilbird in his cage, as usual. But the little yellow bird was silent. Not a single peep chirped out of him. He refused to eat and drink. His eyes were infected and closed, a purple tint was around the rims of his eyes. His feces was drenched in blood and his mouth would not cease its salivation. Some of his delicate feathers were molting and his skin was drying up. But over the years, Gilbird's health had subsided and positively increased. His feathers had grown back and his feces was no longer bloody. It was a sign that Gilbert was getting better. Even with the reports that Ludwig would receive from Alfred every couple of months, he could always obtain Gilbert's signs of increasing health from Gilbird.

Another recent witness was when Japan was devastated with the A-bomb, Kiku was completely demolished with pain and inhuman wounds, bleeding blemishes, and a massive amount of radiation poisoning. After being hospitalized for several years, Kiku was finally able to see Ludwig. That meeting was about six months ago at Ludwig's capitol. It was described as being awkward...a bit quiet, too. Kiku couldn't walk on his own, nor could he even stand. For the entire meeting, he was in a wheelchair. His legs were immobilized, still healing and recovering even after a decade of the war. His left eye was bandaged and temporarily blind. Ludwig could almost see an ugly shade of purple around the damaged eye. Kiku's right arm was broken and in a sling, it was shattered in six different locations. On his right cheek bore a small, healing cut. Though those were the only injuries Ludwig could see, he knew quite well that there were many more horrifying wounds underneath the Japanese nation's clothing.

By the side of his wheelchair laid his Shiba Inu pup, Pochi. The little, cream colored dog had mangy fur and in some places, his fluffy fur was missing. The left side of his head was swollen, like a purple growth had inflated under the light fur. Its eyes were painfully squinted shut. Not even the puffy fur could hide the dog's terrifying malnourishment. Its stomach was sunken in slightly and its ribs were just visible. Seeing the two of them in such critical health made Ludwig hate himself more, putting pressure on his mind and his stomach. But, amazingly, Kiku smiled weakly. "It's okay, Ludwig. We all make mistakes. Friends never intend on getting anyone hurt."

Shaking the memory from his head, Ludwig put the bag of seed back down on the desk. Gazing lazily down at the feeding bird, Ludwig gave a hopeful sigh. As long as Gilbird ate and kept the happy attitude, his brother was going to be okay. Alive and regaining his strength daily.

Turning around, Ludwig silently walked out of Gilbert's room. He paused once he was in the hallway, peering down the lengthy hall. There was only one door down the quiet hallway. Your room. Ludwig hadn't been in your room for a while. Not long enough for it to gather dust, but long enough for him to forget what color the sheets on your bed were. He contemplated. It was only 6:20 and he didn't have to go to work for another hour. Uneasiness weighed on his shoulders. He felt guilty if he didn't check on the condition of your room. The smell of the air. The hue of the walls. The shape of the decor and furnishing. The color and texture of your sheets. Curious, he ambled down to your room. He gripped the knob and twisted it, opening the door. He stepped inside, taking in all of the senses that emitted from your room.

The air was no different than the temperature in Gilbert's room. That cool, crisp, empty feeling of a long uninhabited atmosphere, that no one had lived in the room for a long time. There was only one window in the room that centered on the middle wall, streaming in the same blue hue of early morning. The walls were a warm, cream color, almost resembling vanilla. Even the air had the faint, sweet smell of vanilla. The blankets on your unused bed were a dark green color. Ludwig walked over to your bed, feeling the soft fabric of the sheets on his fingertips. He glanced up at the flag that hung from the wall above your bed. The (country name) flag. It was striped horizontally with three colors. (C), (c), and (c).

On your dresser sat only one picture. Though Ludwig had seen the black and white photograph countless times in the past, he walked over to it anyways to look at it. It was of you. It was quite different from the picture in Gilbert's room...much different. You were smiling. Your mouth was open as if you were happily laughing. Your (e/c) eyes were soft instead of sharp, slightly squinting from the silent laughter that uttered out of you. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair was beautifully neat in its usual style, your delicate hand was running its fingers through the (h/c) strands. You wore a dark blue, long sleeve shirt that complimented your hair, your (s/c) complexion, and fitted the curve of your small body. You were about 17 years of human age and about 50 years of country age. _So young._ Ludwig thought as he took the framed photo in his hands. Now you were 21 years of human age, 78 years of country age, and still young. With his thumb, he wiped away the dust that had gathered on the glass. It almost seemed like yesterday the two of you were playing with wooden swords and guns, dashing from lake rock to lake rock, pretending to hit or shoot one another.

Ludwig found himself staring at the photograph of you, unable to rip his gaze from your beatific, laughing face. It was one of the only pictures of you expressing happiness. Pure, sweet, innocent, carefree happiness. A rare occurrence that was forever caught on paper. No one besides the Germanic family had seen you smile or laugh out of exhilaration. It was unwonted that you would express any sort of positive emotion to anyone outside of the family. Ludwig knew why of course, but he didn't desire to tell anyone out of respect for you, keeping it a secret, deferentially. If he did, it would be a betrayal to you. He thought that if you were to let the silent promise slide, you could never find the exoneration to forgive him. Setting the picture back down onto the dresser, Ludwig exited your vacant room, heading downstairs for an unsatisfying cup of coffee.

 

 

 

November 2nd, 1958 5:50 PM The Kremlin

Walking down the hallway to Ivan's office was a struggle. Your stubborn feet did not want to amble in the direction of the Russian's private office. Just a few minutes ago, a soldier came to your room after you had taken a shower and dressed in a loose, grey sweater and tight-fitting pants for the rest of the afternoon. He informed you that Ivan wanted to see you in his office immediately. After the stern soldier left, you unwillingly pulled your boots and coat on and headed to Ivan's headquarters. The little, red star on your coat was still there for all to see, humiliating you with its symbolism. Over the past three years, you refused to see him in your field of vision. You couldn't stand the sight of him, even if it were for a second.

Ever since that humiliating morning of sleeping pills and beer, you went out of your way to ignore Ivan, even when passing him in the hallways. Of course he would notice you and coo a hello to you. You never said anything back. Why would you? It was a long, silent treatment that you gave him. But he didn't seem to mind it, it was expectant of you. Sometimes when the two of you passed each other in the mornings, he wouldn't say anything, which was rather odd to you. You thought that maybe he had gotten used to the silence that you gave him. But you didn't allow the slight change to give you the chance to let your guard down on the man.

The dark circles around your eyes were relentless and smokey looking, like a sickly purple color. They could almost be mistaken for terrible, black shiners. Your neck and shoulder muscles ached terribly, like a knife or a shard of glass was trapped deep in the flesh of your upper body. The immense pain wasn't from the training. Definitely not from the training. You were certainly used to the barbaric drilling and instruction, you were a military country to begin with. For three years, you could not sleep for more than an hour every day. Sometimes not at all, for a full, sleepless twenty four hours. It was out of the fear of the Russian entering your room while you slept. And now that you knew that he had his own secret way of having access to your room, you upped your circumspection. Even on the weeks that he was temporarily gone. It was psychological abuse and it was starting to take a toll on you.

Not only was the mental mistreatment a problem, but the incorporeal abuse was just as grim. The depression of your country wasn't helpful either. Once or twice in the past, you were staring at the ceiling and all of the sudden, blood instantaneously gushed out of your mouth like upchucked milk or saliva. The glossy, red liquid dribbled out of the corners of your mouth, causing you to cough and silently rush to the bathroom to clean the mess. At first, it took you by surprise. But over time, you became used to it. Another physical difference was that you were losing weight. Definitely not tremendously, but just enough for you to notice. For instance, your clothes were a little looser than they were a few years ago and your cheeks had sunken in slightly after you noticed them in the bathroom mirror.

Country depression can be caused by many factors, communist law being the biggest in (Country name). The policing of your people by Soviet soldiers was another main reason, the abuse, murder, and beatings of families in their own homes. The rape of the women and children in your country was a substantial problem, even in East Germany. Many buildings and landmarks in your small, island of a country were burned down and completely destroyed only to be built back up as military bases and training grounds for Soviet officials and police. There was a large shortage of money, most likely taken by Soviet officials for their own benefits. The press was intensely corrupt, being incredibly misleading to the public. No one in your country trusted the news, except for the government officials. Families were forced out of their homes, because they couldn't earn enough money for a single meal. Every man, woman, and child who broke the law was to be put to death without the right for a trial. There was no honorable liberty about it.

Your (Country name) specialists were hunted down and killed on sight like wild game. Some were tortured, burned alive, even raped, regardless of gender. Many of them went into hiding, just like the Nazi generals and soldiers in Germany who had mysteriously vanished just a few weeks before the end of the war, possibly to escape persecution. But with a small country like your's, it was going to be harder for your specialists to disappear. Worst, you feared for the, so called, wall that Ivan had ordered to build in the GDR. There was no way that Gilbert could find out about it. A few years ago, you gave up on the hope that Gilbert had figured out the code that you sent him. W A L L. It was pointless. A lost cause. It ate away at you. The whole situation was Hell. It was disgusting. Unthinkable. You never thought this would happen to you or your family. In a world like this, you didn't know what mercy meant anymore. Was it even real? And after what has already come of the traumatic rapture, Ivan said nothing. Just a childish smile and a purple gaze... You hated it more than ever now.

Before you reached the door to Ivan's office, you hesitated. Your hands were balled into fists and your ears were torrid, fuming with loathing heat. The pulse in your neck was the equivalent of a rabbit's. Fast and rapid. You could hear it hammering in your head. You did not want to go into that room. _For the love of God, why does he need to see me?_   You thought lowly, glaring at the doorknob to the Russian's office. Biting your tongue, you straightened your posture, uncoiled your fists slowly, and took a few steps towards the unfamiliar office. Instead of grabbing the knob, you raised a hand and knocked on the dark wood. You didn't know why you committed the gesture, you just did.

You bit your tongue harder as you heard Ivan speak from the other side, irritatingly. "There's no need to knock, pet." He called softly, a faint chuckle followed after. You breathed quietly through your nose, exhaling the hot air. You gripped the cold knob and opened the door, stepping into the office. It was peculiar to you. In all of the years you had been at the capitol, you had never seen or stepped foot into the Russian's office. It was the first time you had been summoned there.

Glancing at what you could absorb, you took in every feature of the room. It wasn't very bright in the room, but it was very cozy. Almost too cozy. A suffocating heat drenched the room, most likely caused by the searing fireplace. Orange, yellow light glowed from the crackling fireplace, an occasional pop echoed out of it. You narrowed your eyes as you spied a pipe with a tap that was leaning against the stone of the fireplace. It was vaguely familiar. Tracing back to old, public, and famous photos of Ivan, the pipe had been seen in his strong grasp. A rather signature feature to the Slavic sadist. You had heard him use it once or twice in a past, recorded, battle dialog, but you had never actually seen of him use it, so you guessed that it was just portrayed as a scare tactic. Even then, he would try and intimidate you with guns instead of the pipe.

The entire office was a dark, glossy, mahogany color, constructed out of stained wood. Nearly every wall was a built-in bookshelf, containing hundreds of anonymous and numerous books. The room smelled of a mixture of cigarette smoke and fireplace soot. It tortured your nostrils. _How many times a day did he smoke?_   Soon, your tired eyes wandered to the huge desk that was littered with files, yellow and white colored documents, journals, and a Soviet hat. Your gloomy eyes then narrowed indifferently as you spotted the Russian that was sitting behind the colossal desk. He was staring right at you with his violet eyes, as if he were amused. His pale lips were fixed into a faint leer. Slowly, he propped his arm on the desk and beckoned you with his index finger. _Come here._

Your tongue had gone completely numb from the asphyxiating pressure of your teeth. Facing him once again after a long period of time made your stomach drop and knot into a thousand ties. You fully stepped into the room and shut the door behind you in a controlled manner. Grudgingly, you walked over to the front of the desk, stopping just a few feet away from it. The window behind Ivan was completely black and occasional snowflakes softly fluttered by the framed glass. After thinking for a moment, rerunning all of the office's details, you realized that there were no waiting benches or chairs other than the chair that Ivan was seated in. You almost tisked at the thought of Ivan removing the seats so that you couldn't rest your legs and feet.

"How have you been?" Ivan asked, placing a paper down on the desk, uninterested in the document. His violet eyes smirked at you impishly. You chose to stay silent, staring at him with half lidded, insouciant eyes. After a moment of the man studying your overall physique, Ivan faintly cocked his head, smiling smugly. "Let me guess. Tired?" He noticed the dark circles around your eyes, the flesh almost seemed purple.

"Why did you convene me here?" You asked curtly, glaring at him now with slightly furrowed brows. Finally, you allowed your tongue to circulate with blood, letting the pink muscle breathe. Wanting to keep the conversation short, you questioned him straight out. Ever since you handed yourself over, you felt that the Russian wasn't worth any of your precious time. It would be an unholy mistake to do such.

Expecting the sharp inquiry from you, Ivan's smirk only progressed to get longer and more upturned to one side. "You seem pretty impatient. Are you late for something?" He asked in a low coo, his beige bangs just barely covered his brows.

Keeping your silence, you just stared at him with uninterested eyes. You fought the urge to walk out of the office and head back to your room. _For the love of God! Just tell me what the hell you need me for, Ruski!_   You internally growled, not wishing to face Ivan for much longer. The pressure of making eye contact with him made your stomach queasy, like you would vomit the cherry red liquid called blood. It was killing you, like a slow, rusted knife was plunging into your spine in leisure time. You just prayed that you did not have to see him for another couple of months or years. Better yet, the rest of eternity.

After a minute, Ivan sighed with a smile on his pale lips. "I called you to come to my office to discuss something very important." He teased, taking his time with getting to the point. He obviously knew that it irritated you and only made you more anxious. You felt your ears flush with a hot, radiating heat. "You see, there is going to be a world meeting soon. Vienna is where it will take place. It has been a while since the last meeting. About 40 years ago?-"

"45." You interrupted sternly, correcting the Russian. Narrowing his eyes at you, he paused. You noticed that his smile shrank a little, but it didn't vanish. "Right." He said, a bit annoyed with your sudden correction. He continued, quickly returning the leer to his lips. "Anyways. I will be leaving on January 12th for the meeting. It won't be a long stay though. The longest predicted stay-time will be about a week. It will take a day or two for everyone to arrive so that we can start all together on the same page."

"I suppose you are wanting me to up my training on the army and to be on my best behavior while you're gone." You said halfheartedly, glancing away from the Russian, ready to hear his familiar comments. Ivan would usually do this when he temporarily went away, requesting that you advance the soldiers in some sort of way or form. He would mock you and expect you to be obedient and well-behaved, like a pet.

"Both of those things sound very nice to me, milaya. But," He began after inhaling and leaning back in his chair slightly, "that's not exactly what I had in mind for you." Your (e/c) eyes quickly darted back to him. His violet eyes were piercing into you. "I will need you to accompany me for this meeting."

Confused, you narrowed your eyes at him, furrowing your brows slightly in a sort of perplexity. You were taken aback by the sudden statement. Was this a joke? A game of his? Many excuses and accusations bustled into your mind, nearly clogging your thought process. There was no doubt that Ludwig would be there. He never missed a meeting, not even for a flu or a fever, sun or rain. Was Ivan going to make you sit across from Ludwig and condemned you to from communicating with him? Was he going to humiliate you in front of the world? Was this a way of distracting you from Gilbert's isolated captivity? The questions and growing anxiety festered your brain. You could feel the blood flow in your throat once again, pulsing and pulsing up and down your neck.

"W-what? Why?" You asked in a skeptical tone, returning to an apathetic yet dubious expression. "Well, you will be speaking on behalf of your country. You know, your economy and so forth. But nothing personal of course. I ,for one, know that you're smart enough to understand where I'm going with this." He smirked darkly. "But I shall do most of the talking on your brother's GDR functionalities. Economic updates are important after all. The rest of the world needs to understand our way of trade and handling." Ivan said informatively.

"Besides, I think you deserve a break from your hard routine. I guess you could call it a short vacation time." He beamed darkly and complacently as he watched your expression slightly become more and more troubled. His eyes were like icy, violet knives. "Also, from what I've heard from the Yank, your brother, Ludwig, might be there. However, I forbid you to communicate with him. It would break the rules of the separation plan." It was as if you were eating poison. Breathing it into your unsteady lungs. Ingesting it, tasting the metallic toxin on your bruised tongue and allowing it to slither down your throat like tar. You were drenched in it, soaking it into your skin. Your stomach was an inflamed rock of fire and whipping heat. _Butterflies...?_ You wanted to leave. Now. The entire arrangement was cursory and dangerous. Too good to be true. Everything that popped in your head was nothing but relentless doubt.

But you knew that this was some sort of spectrum of fear in your cranium. It wasn't being caused by Ivan's intimidating and uprooting stature. How could you face Ludwig at this world meeting after what you did? How would he respond? You wanted to see him and you didn't want to see him. You knew that Ludwig had to have been informed of your surrender and allegiance to the Soviets. Ivan practically shouted the event to the world on a megaphone for all to hear. After a fiasco like that, it was possible that Ludwig would have some disappointment. Though you had never infuriated your blond haired brother before, the thought of upsetting him disturbed your mind. Had you betrayed him...? Would he understand...?

Not knowing what to respond with, you held your silence once again. Words came and went in your mind, but none of them seemed suitable for the situation, either being too immature or too tense. " _You're lying._ " You wanted to say. " _You're screwing with me._ " You began to feel humiliated, just standing there, quiet. There was no way to respond to the Russian. For the first time, you felt that your tongue was tied in place and your lips were sewn.

Ivan cocked his head once more, studying you. "Is there a problem?" He asked in a low murmur, just enough for you to hear. You refocused your (e/c) eyes carefully and relaxed yourself, shaking your mind of the negative thoughts. "No." You replied in a mutter. Your brows furrowed with dispassion. You hoped that you could be dismissed back to your room soon. Hopefully in the next couple of seconds.

A minute passed. Your angry anxiousness had doubled, if not tripled. But you stood still. After staring at you with an empty gaze for some time, Ivan stood up contentedly. Your heart sunk for a moment. Slowly, he ambled around the desk and approached you. You tsked internally, already predicting what he was going to do. _Of course he has to touch me..._ You snapped mentally. You were far too exhausted for this. Cautiously, you turned to him, but kept your eyes staring at his polished boots. You didn't want to look at them either. You desired to no longer withstand the Russian's perverted and inhuman treatment. With your legs and fists on alert, you readied yourself to make a lethal blow at any sudden movement he planned to make. With keen ears, you heard his arm maneuver. Not hurriedly, but tenderly. You felt cold, leather fingers gently grip your jaw. With delicate strength, he tipped your face up to his, no longer was your vision shaded and isolated.

Your (e/c), indifferent eyes met with a pair of sadistic, purple voids. They were like chaotic, cursed, lilac skies with black, ebony suns that pierced their victims with unrelenting, inhuman energy. His lips were pale porcelain, a hint of pink rogue could been seen within his inner lip line. Already, his mouth was fixed into a faint, sweet smirk. There was so much coveting desire within his expression. The lechery...it was too much...it was disgusting. You couldn't look at him, not for another second. Praying, you wanted to vanish. With a bit of hesitation, you closed your eyes after glaring at him with indifferent, squinted eyes. You managed to turn you head to the side just a hair. You felt Ivan's gloved thumb sympathetically rub your cheek in a small circle. Then, some fabric rustled from motion.

All the tension that bottled in you stomach immediately shattered into several thousand fragments, popping and splintering like a glassy explosion. Your chest ceased to breathe, causing your lungs to tighten and strain. But for the love of God, life, and everything holy, you dared not to open your eyes as you felt a pair of icy, yet amiable lips brush your left eye. Ivan's warm breath exhaled softly onto the bridge of your nose, like a dense fog over a morning field. He applied more pressure onto your dark, sickly purple eyelids with his lips, eventually claiming it as a kiss. A kiss. He held himself there, not removing his lips from the exhausted skin, nor moving his mouth in a motion of passion. This was most peculiar, terrifyingly odd. Not once had he done this to you. He would only go as far as calling you humiliating names in public and stroke your hair teasingly when you weren't able to fight back. This had to be a scare tactic, a distraction, a degrading, mental quirk. It had to be one...or all of them.

 _W-what the fuck is he dOING?!_   Your thoughts were rushed and raged in a single second as you felt Ivan's tongue lick your closed left eye. The warm, wet flesh smothered the tired skin, sending a disturbed twitch down your throat and stomach. It was a horrible disturbance. You had to move. You attempted to twist your head out of his grasp, but his tender, leather fingers transitioned to a harsh claw and held your head in place. Struggling to get free of Ivan's grip, you made a mumbled, distraught gasp. However, with one swift yank, you slipped out of his grip, slapping him hard across the face in the process. Fluidly, you stepped back several feet to avoid getting snatched.

Opening your eyes, you wiped the damp saliva from your left eye with the wrist of your sleeve, keeping one enraged, glaring eye on the chuckling Russian who seemed to take no interest in the slap you gave him. You gritted your teeth like a deranged hound, more than furious. Insanely angry and demented. Ivan was smiling, laughing under his breath out of satisfaction. "I didn't expect such a reaction." He snickered, his mouth was now and upturned grin, his ivory teeth were visible between his pale lips. His eyes were even snickering at you in a mad happiness. No longer was there any seriousness in his purple skies. Just plain, discomfiting and smug pleasure. A mist of sadism. A dark light of sinister lust. That's all that you could seek out from the man standing just a few feet in front of you. _What was that for? For discompose? To frighten me? Why did he do that? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!_  You mentally growled as your stomach flipped and flopped within you out of ugly feelings and strong, explicit regards for Ivan.

"And now?" He asked in a sing-song voice as he ended his humiliating laughter, his beige bangs now partially shaded his violet eyes. And now is there something wrong? That's what he meant. Is there something wrong now? Those eyes. Those purple, mad eyes. How you wished to rupture them, to abolish them. To completely annihilate them with your thumbs, with your fingers, with knives, with fire. You hated them and the lasciviousness that they possessed. You loathed the color and all of its many classifications and hues. Violet, magenta, lilac, amethyst, heather, and just plain purple. If you could delete the shade from the world with one, single wave of a hand, you would. It was a maniacal, lecherous reminder to you.

Inhaling deeply, but quietly, you sauntered past Ivan, not making any sort of eye contact. You left, exiting the fraught office with detest in your mind, not looking over your shoulder. Your hair whipped steadily behind you as you tried to pick up the pace with your walking. This humiliation, it was a curse. A curse from the war. Not only that, but a slow torture that stripped you of your mental stability. It was like a virus or a common cold that would not cease to go away. It was still there, even after years of no interaction. As you continued down the hallways that lead back to your room, it became much more difficult to walk. Soon, it was a struggle to even lift one leg, even a foot for that matter. Your legs felt like rubber and your feet were heavier than colossal stones.

Just as you arrived at the hallway that contained your bedroom door, you stopped walking altogether. Your lower body refused to move. You wouldn't budge. Your tired, smokey eyes felt hot, but there were no salty, wet tears within them. Your cheeks were fire, singing in a radiating heat. Your chest and neck burned with anger, a prickly feeling that lingered on your upper body after several minutes of stillness. Furrowing your brows in a loathing glare, you found yourself smiling disturbingly. It wasn't a happy smile. It was anything but. This was hate. This was the breaking point of your tolerance. It had been breached, yet bottled for another time.


	15. Ice of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o Over 1500 hits! Thank you guys so much! I am so grateful for the kudos, hits, and comments! Especially the comments. If you haven't already, you can share this fic with friends and acquaintances. I am really trying to get my work out there and I see that a lot of people love what I write and it just makes me feel really good that I can create plots that people enjoy reading and don't get bored with. It really supports me :) So, the next chapter is going to be the meeting and it is going to be pretty long! After reading, feel free to tell me your thoughts on Ivan and the reader. If you have any questions, I am willing to answer. Enjoy!

January 12th, 1959 6:30 AM   The Kremlin

The wind howled unrelentingly against your window. It screeched, it screamed, it roared, like nails to a chalkboard or a child shrieking for their mother. But it was in such a faint, faded tone, like it was traveling through several rooms. A ponderous and nasty blizzard plummeted all of Moscow with its icy hand, tearing at the ground with its raking, frigid fingers, gripping and shoving the people who worked up the courage to travel outside in the bitter, early morning. It was a struggle for everyone to survive the unmerciful winter, especially this winter. The cruel, blustery weather hadn't decreased in anything but temperature and warmth. The sky had been the same shade of black and grey since early November, if not, darker.

You remembered a recent day when you were trudging outside for your everyday walk. It was two weeks, no...five weeks ago that this happened. You found several, stiff balls or lumps of snow on the white ground next to the road. Just before you had to turn around and head back to the city with the truck-escort, you bent down and picked up one of the balls of snow, dusting it off to reveal a little bullfinch. The little grey, black, and red bird was perfectly frozen and preserved in the icy cocoon. Its feathers were firm as well as the rest of its tiny, delicate body. It was almost like the bird had died the day before, no, just a few hours. Red, black, grey. You could not prevail having the thoughts of the government you had before the Soviet's. The redness and blackness of the Nazi regime that you had become a part of.

You remembered how your external expression remained dead and unmoved, but a silent mockery wedged its way into your head. You could feel your darkly circled eyes pierce two holes into the gorgeous bird. The Nazi party was gone, nothing more than history now, a devastating reminder. But you were still there. Your brothers were still there. The damage was still there. You and your siblings would have to live with the harsh memory and history for the rest of your lives. It was as if the finch was laughing at you, that it was dead and you were alive. That you were living and it was deceased. The tiny red, black, and grey bird was hysterically guffawing at you, that you could not leave the earth, that you could not be taken away by the sweet, eternal sleep that blissfully washed away all pain and misery that forced itself upon all life. That you and your brothers were forever stuck on the pitiful earth to be punished for a one-alternative choice that couldn't be denied.

It was melancholy. It was a bitterness. And yes, indeed, it was depressing. A significant symbol of complete suffrage and death. A marker of falling from one's high chances of surviving a world of destitution to the ground of ice and demise, to be eaten by the cold teeth of snow and winter's parasite called death. The air was a freezing poison that stripped the entire land of life, choking the lungs of the living with its cruel grasp. The clouds masked the sky, smothering the warm beams of sunlight and instead replacing them with dark masses that poured down a dry and, yet, wet rain of snow. The trees were skeletons, forever stuck to the draconian ground to withstand the imprisonment of Russian weather until their roots were nothing but feeble sticks.

Remorselessly, the wind would whip and whirl everyone to their knees like slaves to a brutal, monstrous owner. Animal, plant, or person, the wind would strike everyone down to the ground with its harsh scourge only to keep them on the cold ground, driving them further into the numbing snow. The icy rapture would bury them in a frigid blanket, stifling them from all warmth and motherly comfort. Oh, how the animal, plant, or person would beg, would scream for the cold hands of winter to stop their stinging and painful hug. It would deprive them of all feeling until they could feel once again. A nothingness would glaze over them and take them to a dark and light world. They could feel and they couldn't feel. They were dead and they were alive, but mostly frozen.

Knock. Knock. Your (e/c) eyes twitched out of their lazy, sullen gaze that directed to the dark window. The sudden knock on your door snapped you from your troubled and unpleasant thoughts, wiping away everything that pricked your mind with silent uneasiness. Well...almost all your uneasiness.

Slowly, you turned to the door and walked over to it with light footsteps, away from your previous placement by the lonely window. You gripped the doorknob with an uneasy hand, wrapping your fingers loosely around the round knob. You managed to relax your exterior somewhat before you opened the door, but your internal fire burned and lapped at your heart and mind with its untamed flames. The door squeaked open and revealed the towering, uniformed, Russian country, smiles and all.

"Good morning." He cooed happily, tilting his head down to meet with your tired, (e/c) eyes. You said nothing, only keeping a sleep-deprived and drained stare on him. The long months that ran between the date of November 2nd and now weren't very clement. _When were they?_ You still didn't converse with Ivan unless it was a response for an action or duty that had to be carried out. Other than that, it was the usual greeting that the Russian pressed on you, the _'hello'_ or _'good morning'_ or _'good night'_ or that damn name he called you every few days. Everything was still as normal. In other words, everything was still hellish. "Are you ready to g-"

"Everything has been taken to the transportation since 6:00." You muttered, interrupting Ivan to keep from talking to him for too long. Ivan cocked an eyebrow, his beige bangs nearly covered them. His lips fainted for a second, before they returned to a light smirk. "Eager to leave?" He asked, tipping his head down a bit more.

"No." You said lowly, stepping out of your room and into the hallway. While closing the door behind you, Ivan stepped back some. "No? Why is that?" He scoffed after chuckling once in his throat. You furrowed your brows in pique, your lungs heated up quickly. You sighed with a faint grunt after glaring to the side for a moment, then you both began walking down the hall. "Don't give me any of that crap, Braginski. You know why."

"Oh? I'm not sure I do." He teased, holding his hands behind his back as he ambled down the hall, his scarf just reached his ankles. You bit your tongue to keep from snapping at him, though you perceived that he deserved it. "Do you mind telling me why you're not happy with leaving my country for a while?"

"Because I'll be having to put up with you the entire time..." You growled after some time, shoving your hands into your coat pockets, keeping your gaze on the wooden floor. That wasn't entirely true, nor was it the main reason. In all honesty, you could care less how long you would have to stay with Ivan in Austria. At this point, his lustful harassments and irritating toyings were completely insensible to you. Basically, you no longer cared what he did to you. It was pointless to stop him from committing his personal intimidation.

You just couldn't swallow your pity and work up the courage to face Ludwig. You thought that he had to have known by now on what you did. It would be such a relief to see him and know how he's doing, and just to show him that you were still alive. But there was that shadow of doubt that stalked behind you. How would he react to seeing you again after all these years? Would he even see you as his sister...or a new enemy? Would he turn on you? _Shut up. Shut up!_ You grunted internally, pushing the dark silhouette away from your thoughts, away from the light of your mind.

"What's wrong with that? I thought you enjoyed my company. I'm quite fond of having you around me. I don't have many people to talk to except you and a few other of my officials." Ivan smiled as the two of you climbed down the stairs leisurely, bootsteps tapped and echoed off of the empty steps. "Besides, this short vacation might be what the two of us need. Not only will we have a blissful week off, but we can take the time to bond with one another."

Sighing through your nose softly, you glared down at the floor tiredly. "Might I remind you, Iv-an, that your ways of 'bonding' aren't compatible with mine." You hissed, breaking Ivan's name up with its syllables. The skin on your covered neck was pulsing with a hating heat.

Observantly, Ivan kept a purple gaze on you as you both walked down the next hallway. His eyes were barely covered with his cream hair, hiding his happily furrowed brows. He studied your posture, noticing the way your upper body hunched from the prolonged lack of rest. Sometimes, he felt the urge to laugh at your ridiculousness. But there were other characteristics that he took curiosity in, even lusted. For instance, it was almost hypnotizing for him to watch you amble away from him at times, the way your hips would sway faintly from side to side. But he hated the fact that it aroused him so often and that his chances of sexual relief was highly unlikely, if not, impossible. He had the option of masturbation and he had no problem engaging in it, but he never could find satisfaction afterwards. It would actually leave him harder than before after four times.

He thought that this was most likely caused by his lack of time around women since he was entirely surrounded by men. And since you were one of the few he would see, his only imagery of a female would be you. If one thing was for sure, Ivan was positive that he did not like you at all. Not love, not like, nor respect. Just complete antipathy. And he knew for certain that you possessed the same hatred against him. His loathing for you had not ceased, but your exposure to him only made your presence more toyable and amusing, cute, too. It was a joy for him to pick fun at you, just to see the little reactions you made. The best part for him was to imagine a bubble expanding within your mind, but never allowing it to explode.

He watched as your darkened, (e/c) eyes peered down at the floor in such a silent loathing. It was like a satire to Ivan to see you this way, giving him more than enough pleasure to observe your irritation. However, he had to admit, it had gotten boring after a while. The regular teasing was deteriorating in amusement to him since you would cease to react to his childish treatments. But when he physically harassed you by running his gloved fingers through your (h/l), (h/c) hair, or put a hand on your jaw, you would act a bit differently. You would shrug his hand off of your shoulder, walk out of his leather grip. Or, his favorite, stand there quietly with an unmoved glare on your face. But it wasn't a drastic change of emotion. It would be impossible for him to make you utter a sign of absolute fear or woe.

However, when he called you to his office all those months ago, he sensed a bit of dismay from you after he mentioned Ludwig. He took note of how your posture straightened and your chest ceased to move. Even the confused furrow of your brows almost made him giggle. This reaction was definitely peculiar to Ivan. It was strange to see, yes, but he knew that he had pushed a button somewhere within your complex head, struck a cord or a nerve. Ivan was not an idiot to know that you were somewhat fearful of seeing your brother or something along those lines. And he knew exactly why, which increased his sick amusement.

"You know, you're much more talkative when you're annoyed." He chuckled silently through his hooked nose. "Just like your brother. Gilbert, I mean." Inhaling quietly, you closed your eyes for a moment and then opened them. Your fists clenched and unclenched deep within your coat pockets, itching for a swift jab in Ivan throat. _God, give me the strength not to punch this man._  You pleaded mentally as you both neared the main entrance.

The windows were dark, but you could faintly see the white petals of snow fluttering down to the ground outside. There was a soft, yellow light illuminating from the gloomy windows. The headlights of the waiting car were glowing against the fogged glass. Next to the thick, double doors stood two armed soldiers, guarding the entrance for any unusual or non-permitted visitors. Their eyes quickly darted at both of you and a sudden uneasiness filled their shady pupils. With great swiftness and caution, they opened the entrance, holding both doors open for you and the Russian nation.

Immediately, a gust of icy wind cupped your cheeks and blew your hair back, whipping the ends of the (h/c) strands delicately. The chill bit your nose and the surface of your eyes, stinging them with its cold breath. The sky was an ebony canvas of blizzard with fluttering leaves of snow. The grounds and buildings were drenched in shadow and gloom. Your breath fogged in front of you like a thick, smokey cloud. It was hard to believe that it was morning. An intimidating, black car was patiently waiting in front of the capitol building, a modern style for the current decade, thus you could not identify the name or model of it. You noticed its passenger door was already open with a guard beside it.

 _I...I can't..._ You whispered internally, a silent distress crept onto your neck. Something halted you in your tracks and you bit your tongue once more. It was at that moment, you realized you did not want to get into that vehicle for it was a cage. You did not want to go to the meeting. You did not want to go to Vienna. And over all of the absurd conflicts that scrambled around in your dismayed head, you did not want to face Ludwig. You couldn't. You wouldn't.

A small voice tinkered its way into your mind as a compunction. Would those piercing, blue eyes stare at you? Or would they cease to glance in your direction like a neglected child, too ashamed to lay their gaze on your appearance? Would Ludwig have kept his intimacy for you as his sister, or would he refuse to recognize you as his sibling? Fourteen years is enough for anyone to change their outlook on someone. Even Ludwig. _Shut up, dammit! Shut up!_  You growled internally, frightening the voice back to its corner.

Just on the smalls of your back, you felt a hand push you forward sternly. You didn't have to look. It was Ivan. "Too cold to move?" Ivan tittered as he kept his gloved hand pressed onto your lower back, pushing you along beside him. Saying nothing, you went along with him, allowing his austere grip to escort you to the subduing vehicle. You knew that he had the feeling you were fretting, it was obvious from the way you reacted to the waiting car. Though his hand and his remarks hounded you and irritated you to the fullest, you hated to silently admit that they helped you break from the apprehensive thoughts that clouded your mind. Snow and ice crunched beneath your boots like dead, dry leaves. You could feel a few fragile snowflakes land on the top of your head. They stuck to your hair and then melted away as quickly as they came.

In just a few moments, you reached the transportation. Your head was a mess of knots and horrid ties. Your fists were tightly balled and numb within your coat pockets, despite their blistering warmth. How you desired to turn around, backhand the tall Russian country, and head back to your room to wait until the daily schedule of training began. How you yearned for another hard week of training in a harsh, Slavic tongue than a week of humiliation and apprehensive fear. Than a complete seven days with a sadistic Rusk that had no intention of leeway. But this was not a choice, nor was it an option. You had no say, thus you had to go.

With a slightly despotic shove to your back, Ivan pushed you inside of the black vehicle. Landing onto the lengthy, backseat, you took your hands out of your pockets to catch yourself from falling too hard. Your fingers gripped the firm leather of the seat as the door slammed shut behind you. It was dark inside, but you could still see somewhat, because of the outside headlights and the tint of the grey sky. The air was exceedingly bitter and reeked of cigarette smoke, just like Ivan's office. There was a wall that separated the front of the vehicle and the back to where the driver, the windshield, and anything in the front couldn't be seen, hidden from the passengers.

You felt hot and you felt cold. You couldn't tell which was worse at the moment, because of the minor sense of panic that dashed through your bloodstream. But for a haste second, you decided that you'd rather be chilly than scorching. After taking off your outer belt and trench coat, folding them, and setting them down on the floor of the car, you situated yourself on the seat. You rested your foot onto the opposite knee, your signature sitting position. Somehow the 'unladylike' habit of yours lingered with you over the prolonged years though you barely ever had the time to actually sit down. It came just the same, naturally.

The pumping pulse in your neck throbbed unimaginably. You could hear it. Pum. Pum. Pum. Pum. It was like a faint, rapid thunder that ceased to stop. Pum. Pum. Pum. This wasn't something you were prepared for, nor was it something you expected to happen in this separation. This meeting was a punishment. Not just for you, but for Ludwig as well. If your brother were to push past everything that you had done and still loved you the same, his chance to communicate with you or commit a physical action was prohibited and unjust. It was all uncalled for. Was Ivan just this obsessed with creating a hatred between you and your family? A manipulation of some sort?

The door on the opposite, passenger side popped open. Keeping yourself as close to your side as possible, you avoided Ivan as he entered the vehicle. Staring out of the dark window, you leaned against the door and crossed your arms, tucking your hands in the crook of your arms. His door slammed closed. He was in the car with you. And he was going to be in the car until you reached the train station. But even then you would have to share a section with him for another couple of hours until you got onto another train and then another. There would be no isolation from him. You were just thankful that there was a good amount of space between the two of you on the seat.

You could hear the rustle of his clothes. Glancing for a moment, you observed him as he took off his hat and brushed the glittering snowflakes off of its flat top. Your (e/c) eyes quickly scanned his overall expression. His lilac eyes were fixed onto his hat, careful that he did not miss a single, icy shred of snow. He pale lips were not curled into a smile for once. They were actually solemn as if he were in deep thought. His medium length, beige hair appeared as being soft, maybe smooth. The long bangs nearly covered his dark brows, hiding some of his thoughtful expression. The tip of his hooked nose was a bit blushed from the bitter temperature, standing out against his incredibly pale complexion.

It gave you a silent amazement at how dour he looked at the moment, all because his hat caught a few flakes of snow on its green fabric. Gently, Ivan placed the hat onto the leather surface of the space between you and him. He then extended his arm and reached forward, knocking on the wall to the driver's side of the vehicle. Tap. Tap. And a moment later, the engine of the car revved up and took off down the dark road.

The lamp lights came and went as the glossy, black vehicle sped by, illuminating their weak luster over the window. The unrelenting snow showered down, fluttering like white doves across a sea of gloom and despondency. It was depressingly beautiful in your eyes. Moscow was its own, little perdition. A town that never smiled, yet, at the same time, it did. As the blackened buildings and allies passed by, you came to think that the city itself was temporarily deceased. When the hellish hands of winter gripped the land, it stole every bit of life.

Yet, Russia was still alive somehow. But even when it was living, it was dying. It never came back to life. It just fakes its last breath. The people, the trees, the birds in their nests, the dogs and ally cats, the roaches on the ground, the fictional spirit. They all did. It angered you, this elegant struggle. There was so much quiet disruption and loud grace that you could not tell which quality the yearly blizzard desired. What did it want? What did this land have that the winter could not clasp and drag away?

Clink. Flick. Already you could hear Ivan light a cigarette beside you. _Shit..._ You murmured in your thoughts, lidding your eyes just a bit. You had no idea that he smoked more than he drank. It occurred to you that Ivan would be smoking for the entire trip and that you would have to be around him for most of the time. After so many years of breathing the same, sooty air as him, you came to detest cigarettes. The thick smell set fire to your nostrils and suffocated your eyes, making them transition from white to a pinkish red. But you had been able to withstand the irritating smoke for a long amount of time.

A few moments passed and you could see the air thickening to a grey haze. You watched as the smoke rolled and fumed and blossomed in the empty space of the car. Your eyes were practically squinting as you continued to stare out the dark window. "It would be wise to catch up on your sleep, Beilschmidt." Ivan proposed after a minute of silence aside from the gentle hum of the vehicle. "I don't need you looking like a Polunocnica at the meeting."

Turning your head just enough to glance at him once more, you couldn't help but mutter a response to him in feedback to his childish comment. "What makes you think that I will?" Ivan smiled wider and lidded his eyes slightly, his ignited cigarette was held between two gloved fingers. "Have you seen yourself lately? Some of my officials think that you had engaged in a fight because of how dark your eyes have gotten."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that I will doze off." You explained in a mumble, nearly turning your face fully over to him. "Well, your overall complexion doesn't look very healthy, not to mention that you've lost a little weight." He added, referring to the additional belt that was added to the outside of your trench coat to keep it well adjusted. "I take it that you haven't been sleeping as I told you to." He paused for a second. "Is this all because of that little mishap that took place three years ago?"

Your brow twitched out of displeasure. His annoying conduct never seemed to grow weary around you. "Congratulations, Braginski." You scoffed lowly as you stared at him with indifferent eyes. A small twist of anger filed into Ivan's eyes after your mocking response came out, but his smile remained unmoved. It almost made you smirk to watch him contain his vexed emotions beneath his sweet face. A bit amusing to say the least.

"I'm going to have to work on your behavior, milaya. You Germanics have no sense in manners when it comes to politeness." Ivan sighed with a sneer as he put the cigarette up to his lips to take another smokey breath. You quivered a quick smirk as you started your response. Then, it disappeared. "Ivan. You must be mistaking me for someone who gives a shit."

After holding in his smoke, he blew a long, steady stream of sooty breath in your direction. His lips were no longer upturned into a smile. The expression on his pale face was completely stern as if he were uneasily accepting a defeat. A minute passed before he answered in a low mutter. "As much as I dislike your tone, I have to conclude that you still cease to fail me with your counters..."

Minutes passed, eighteen to be exact. You were gazing out the window again with uninterested eyes. The argument that you had won all those minutes ago was placed into your memory and tucked away. It was an oral quarrel that scored some power for your side. The vehicle was almost out of the city. You could tell by the outside area and its features. The buildings were much smaller and spaced out. A few skeletal trees could be seen on the side of the road along with the piles of blanketing snow. The sky was slightly lighter, but the stormy clouds did not surrender to the rising sun, keeping the world dark. Some cottages were popping up as a few more minutes flew by, even a field or two. In just another ten minutes, you would be in the country side on a main road, away from the gloomy city of Moscow.

Gradually, you felt yourself become colder in temperature. You softly sighed, tucking your hands further into the crook of your arms. It didn't help that the train station that you were headed to was remotely north, which was rather odd, because Vienna is far to the west. Though you were a boreal country, the Russian winter still remained unadaptable for you, even when you took your morning walks for the long, fourteen years. You began to regret taking off your coat. It was problematic for you to put the long, ebony coat back on, because you didn't look forward to receiving an irritating remark from Ivan. You should have been scorching.

About fifteen minutes flew by and the atmosphere had only gotten worse, not to mention the thick cigarette smoke that filtered into the car. The icy air seeped through the thick, black fabric turtleneck, stinging your arms and legs with goosebumps. Chill began to nip the tip of your nose and ears, turning the flesh a blush-pink tone. You could feel yourself on the verge of trembling and shivering. You dared not to, because of the humiliating comment Ivan might make if he caught you shuddering. Unfortunately for you, your uneasy concealment did not go unnoticed.

"You're shivering." He scoffed as you heard him flick his finished cigarette to the floor of the car, putting it out beneath his boot. _Fuck..._ Closing your glassy eyes slowly and sighing quietly, you replied in a bored murmur. "I'm fine."

"Why don't you put your coat back on?" He asked, trying to sound naive. You swallowed a grunt and clenched your jaw. "I don't need it." You muttered, opening up your eyes to the smokey air. "That's hard for me to believe, milaya." Ivan chuckled, you heard him pick up his Soviet hat and put it back on his head. "I know that you, a northern country, cannot withstand my nation's weather. It's quite evident so to say."

"I said I don't need it." You growled, tsking, you furrowed your brows in vex. A steady silence poured between the two of you, almost a dead silence. You took it that Ivan had lost interest in the minor matter, but it was odd to you that he gave up so quickly. Or so you thought. "(Y/n)?" He began after several minutes. "Would you rather be warm or cold right now?"

Glaring over at his infuriating smile with a piqued expression, you turn your head to face him. There was no doubt that he wanted you to say warm. You felt that he desired for you to say warm, to give into the unreachable content. And it was a painful truth that it was so. It was correct. You hankered to be in the sun or by a fire, bringing comfort and life back to your trembling skin. It would be a bliss to your aching muscles, a soothing relief. But to give into his question would be another victory for him and just further humiliation towards you. Overall, the question was straight up strange. _Why would he care?_

"Why does this concern you?" You muttered, turning your head back to the window to see that the scenery had become a dark, gaunt woods. "Just answer." Ivan murmured back. You pictured his smile fading a little. Sighing with blazing breath once more, you clenched your jaw and retorted, just to shut him up. "I'd rather be cold." A few moments passed before his boggling words left his mouth. "Then come here."

Your eyes widened in disbelief out the window. A sudden, sharp pain dove down your body, a painful panic that plunged inside your chest, ripping your heart inside out. What just came out of his mouth? Turning your head back to him slowly, you held your breath. You narrowed your (e/c) eyes at him in irk and suspicion. He shifted a bit to where his upper body was turned towards you. It was a bit frightening to notice that he had gotten a little closer to you. His smile was still there, obvious to your focus of attention. His beige bangs nearly covered his brows from you. And those amethyst eyes lazily gazed into you.

"Why?" You asked sternly, not taking your indifferent eyes off of him. His pale lips widened cruelly. "Because I can make you colder." He cooed, furrowing his brows in mystique. His words baffled you, turning your brain into a prickling mess of loath and irritation. It was as if you were smacked upside the head from an invisible attacker. He was really pissing you off. No, far beyond that. But you refused to let the bottled hate and anger explode and overflow. Now was not the time nor the place. In high hopes, you prayed that the unwise emotions would sink down and dissolve, erase themselves from your mind before you drove a punch into his strong jaw.

Narrowing your eyes and furrowing your brows with disgust, you turned away from him, unable to stare apathetically into his sinister, pale face. You felt your stomach shrivel with an unexplained heat, an unquenchable fear and a sputtering fire all at once. It would be three hours before you arrived at the train station. It had only been about forty minutes since you got into the car and you were already burning to jump out of it. Your three years of avoidance from Ivan changed your patience on his annoying, callous behavior and handling. It was like trying to avoid sickness. The less you were around indisposition, the more unguarded your immune system became. And the more unguarded your immune system was, the easier the sickness could take over, trashing your overall health with its clingy virus.

Very cautiously, you felt something tenderly brush against both sides of your waist ever so carefully. Shock scampered up your spine as you realized that there was a pair of hands gently taking hold of your petite waist. Taking your hands out of the crooks of your arms, you felt a state of panic wash over you like a rushing flood. Your lips parted slightly as if you were to protest, but strangely, nothing came out. However, a faint gasp escaped your throat as Ivan's grip became more controlling, yet benevolent at the same time.

A string of anxiety plunged into your mind as he leisurely pulled you towards him, your foot dropped from the opposite knee. You knew you had to stop him. Now. What he was doing was something you did not enjoy at all. The traitorous thoughts of letting him have his way was ludicrous, absurd, and disloyal. _Stop this..._ You could not. You desired to. Oh, you wanted to. But you couldn't. And it infuriated you that you did not know why.

Holding your breath, you felt your back make contact with his torso. You bit your tongue and tensed nearly every muscle in your body, unable to get a grip. Another shock wave of apprehension sprawled inside of you as a leather hand gripped the back of your left thigh, raising it just enough for you to sit on his thigh. He parted your legs in the process to where his knee was between yours, giving you balance. One of his powerful arms began to snake around your waist, almost wrapping it entirely about your core.

This was when you just about had enough. You itched to make a move. As his embrace tightened, you tensed suddenly, gasping weakly. Your hands immediately went to his arm, clamping onto it to keep it from holding you any tighter. You lurched forward ever so slightly in hopes that you could break free of his discomfiting hold. But Ivan quickly held you in place, pulling you fully into him. Your back pressed entirely onto his chest and core, but your head remained tilted forward, off of his broad chest. This was a control that you refused him to have. The full control.

While you were far too distracted to dodge his move, Ivan quickly grasped your jaw with his free hand, tilting it upwards and holding you in place. You reached up and snatched his wrist with one hand while keeping a strong grip on the arm that was around your waist with the other. Holding your breath, you squinted your (e/c) eyes in distress. The cold leather was ice to your jawline, sending further discomfort to your freezing skin. Why were you allowing this? Was it that you were too immune to slither out of his mortifying harassment? Was it that you had gotten so used to this treatment and that this was just a more advanced approach for him? Just let him do what he wanted and it will all be over? A test? No struggle, no pain? There had to be something wrong with you. Something.

You felt him lean his head down to yours. His cheek was resting on the side of your head, his lips inches from your ear. You pictured his pale mouth in the shape of that sly crescent of his. His warm breath seeped through your (h/l), (h/c) hair and fogged around your ear, sending more agitation into your clustered brain. You didn't want him to get any closer to you. You almost couldn't hear his words, because of the boiling hot and boiling cold blood that pulsed in your head. "Calm down, Nazi." He cooed complacently, the tip of his large, curved nose buried itself in your hair. "I'm not going to hurt you."

 _A lie._ The two of you stayed that way for several minutes. Kathump. Kathump. You couldn't count the exact number of minutes, because of the pounding blood that rushed through your thoughts. Kathump. Kathump. Kathump. But you knew it had to have been about ten, maybe more. Kathump. Kathump. Kathump. It was hard to think. It was hard to do anything at the moment. Neither you or Ivan moved. You were both like still statues of a monument.

 _He's scaring you._  A voice in your head said. _Fuck! It's what he does best! It's his profession!_  Yes, the voice in your mind wasn't wrong, but it did not state the other half of the fact. You were losing. You were giving in. There was no struggle. No resistance or rejection. There was nothing. Just surrender. Just ignorance. Just a coward. A cornered mouse. Why didn't you do anything back there? Why didn't you resist? Kick him? Scratch him? Slap him? Break his jaw? What in God's name stopped you?!

The ongoing and unrelenting questions shamed you, spat in your face, and turned away. It wasn't a good feeling. Not at all. A feeling of betrayal blossomed inside of your thinking process. You were letting yourself slip away too easily. No. Just the fact that you were letting yourself slip away. Period. Your guard, your morals, your trust. All of it. It was just one step closer for him to earn your rare trust. He's playing you and you have done nothing.

However, half of your brain said otherwise. He hasn't actually hurt you before. _Shut up._ Yes, he has! It's true, you know. Just let him have his way. It's less of a struggle. _Go away._ He'll grow tired of it eventually. It's just this one time. _Shut up!_ It's so cold. _SHUT UP! STOP THAT! TRAITOR!_

As all of the mayhem intensified within your head, your grip on Ivan's wrist disloyally loosened as well as the one on his other arm, but it was all done slowly and steadily. Your body was controlled by someone else. The little, anonymous person in your head. Who was it? Why did it show up now, unexpectedly out of no where? Where did this sudden, biddable part of you come from? Was it even you? How did it gain this control over you so promptly?!

You kept your hands on the dark green fabric of Ivan's sleeves, resting them against the robust arms. You could feel Ivan's lips widen against your head, the skin expanding in length. The leather hand on your jaw became less aggressive, but it still kept a stern grip on you. His thumb began to move back and forth on your jawline ever so steadily, stroking your soft, (s/c) skin, taking great satisfaction in your perturbed actions.

Within a few moments, Ivan removed his cheek from the side of your head and leaned back against the seat, pulling you with him leisurely. Holding your breath, you felt the back of your head come into contact with Ivan's chest. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you released their grip and put them at your sides with hesitation. You were so incredibly tense sitting on his thigh. You shook ever so slightly, out of anxiety and chill, but you couldn't tell which was the majority of your present feelings. A sick concern stretched out your stomach. Acidic butterflies. Your heart was an alarm, the hammer constantly beating the bell at a rapid pace. Was this fear? You didn't accept it. You didn't want to. Never.

Gently, Ivan pulled you further into him to where you were practically leaning your back and head against his torso. He removed his gloved hand from your jaw, allowing you to recover a bit of tranquility from the lengthy, anxious minutes. Instead, he placed his hand onto your left thigh. He did not move his hand in a stroking manner. It was just placed there, probably for support so that you didn't move around too much. However, it did not ease your agitation one bit. You tensed again, causing Ivan to notice your timidness.

"Relax." He whispered, rubbing your side up and down with the snaking arm that was around your waist. This frightened you. He sounded so serious and he sounded so sardonic. He was both. It was not so much the mockery that scared you for you expected it out of him. It was the solemness that startled you, the sternness in his tone. This seriousness was a rare occurrence to many, but it usually was caught by you. And it wasn't something that was too unusual to some, but this time it was strange. Incredibly strange.

You remembered when he snatched you by the lapels of your coat on the 'performance day', shaking you lightly in your place, back and forth. You recalled the dark threat he growled at you, the threat you swore he promised to keep. "I can do whatever I want to you. I can take whatever I want from you. I can get whatever I want from you. And I will treat you however I want to. So you had better get used to it." Was this what he meant? That you and your mentality could be thrown left and right with his swinging behavior and torture? That you were but a toy of sadistic and perverted pleasure? Or was it still that he had the power to use your country for his own profit and benefits, to continue the expansion of Soviet power? To strengthen the dexterity of his army and artillery?

This almost made you laugh. Hysterically even. The lower lid of your darkened, right eye twitched. There was no emotion present on your face. The outside of your body was deprived of any sentiment. No smiles, no frowns, no furrowed brows, no wide eyes. Just a still, rested face. However, beneath the armor of your skin, there was vileness. Heat, anger, detest, ugly feelings of all sorts. It was corruption and eruption, sparks and flames, insanity and sanity, blood and guts. It was hate, the simplified definition of all hideousness. Fourteen years of loathing magma, compacted and smelted all over again. This containment of your abhorrence for the Russian and the other factors was consuming you. The bottling of the hostility for Ivan was on the verge of bursting. It wasn't going to be pretty and you did not care about the dangerous consequences that would follow afterwards. This indignation was going to be released soon. Just barely, you focused yourself on the steady inhale and exhale of Ivan's lungs. You despised to admit that it was somewhat soothing as you watched the white world outside pass by. Ivan was right though. He did make you colder. A cold, loose gun that is.


	16. The Lord and the Hound

Vienna, Austria World Conference Hall January 14th, 1959 10:56 AM

Like a stifled train wail, there were plenty of aggressive voices emitting from the closed room that you progressed towards. With your boots echoing softly down the deserted stretch of hallway, you and the Russian nation silently walked towards the meeting room. However, Ivan was much more carefree with his steps, holding many files in one arm as he strode...unlike you. The boots on your feet were dead weight, nothing more than substantial burdens. Tired as all get out, your entire image was jaded. Your upper body was hunched slightly, your shoulders slouched, and your eyes were still black as a fighter's shiners. Your stomach was a tight mess and your pulse was a gun firing infinitely with never ending rounds. Every step that you took was faintly labored, but you did an expansive job of hiding this growing fatigue, though Ivan pointed it out nearly everyday for several months.

Today, however, Ivan pushed you to look your best, which included cleaning your black, lengthy coat, adjusting the metallic, red star on the front of it, and tightening the belt around your waist as well as brushing your (h/l), (h/c) hair and your white teeth. Polishing your boots was a desire, too, though no one would see them during the meeting. But this yearn of perfection and neatness wasn't as radical as your normal, orderly fashion. Even after double checking that you had exactly what he desired, he inspected your entire image personally, making sure that absolutely nothing was missing, especially the Red star. Afterwards, he performed his typical, perverted handling of your jaw, moving it from side to side just to see how sickeningly dark your apathetic eyes were.

Not only were these requirements forced upon you, but he obliged you to acquire sleep while staying in a nearby inn the night before. Of course you scoffed and disobeyed this request of his, staying up the entire night by the warm fireplace as Ivan slept in the only bed in the hotel room. And you were quietly thankful that the inn did not permit smoking in any of their rooms, which shallowly peeved Ivan. But he would bite his tongue and puff his smoke condescendingly outside in the cold. This behavior was funny to you, it was almost bratty of him to react in such a manner. But it amazed you how smug and idiotic Ivan was when he continued to press slumber on you. He knew that you weren't stupid, but he did it for the fact that it annoyed you drastically.

What increased your dose of irritation today was that Ivan chose to be an hour late for the meeting and you knew exactly why. As always, Alfred spoke first during meetings and his speeches and news took fairly long to get by, but that wasn't the case for Ivan. The Russian already knew about most of the American's statistics since he had Red spies and whistle-blowers working undercover in the American government. That and he knew what reports were true and false about the United States' nuclear and atomic information and planning. He said it wasted precious time, which you couldn't help but agree with.

Ivan was so set on defeating Alfred in every way, striving to pass the American up in every ranking of government, sports, militia, and technology. So far, Russia has only been one step ahead from America in space exploration and athleticism. You actually recalled a time when Ivan was bragging to other officials about the launch of Sputnik and the incredible effectiveness of steroids in athletes and soldiers. But these two accomplishments struck a small fear in you that shrieked in a boisterous shout. Though you wished to disagree with the silly suspicion and silently laugh it off, an attempt to drown the deafening voice out, doubt defeated you and forced you to believe the painful fact. Russia was growing stronger and you were aiding him as a loyal prisoner.

Your stomach became heavier as you and Ivan approached the meeting room door. For the first time, you felt unprepared to face one of your own family members. To look into the eyes of the blue eyed, blond haired brother of yours. The pressure of those eyes. Those stern eyes that imprisoned the sky of cyan disappointment. It was all that you pondered about since you left Moscow. The anxiety boiled within your bloodstream and picked at your brain with traitorous theories. The collar of your turtleneck was suffocating your throat, causing the skin to sweat. You were nothing, but a confused and nervous mess at this point. There was no way of cooling down the circuits in your mind if you did not converse with Ludwig for just a moment. And you already knew that it would be highly unlikely, because of the tall, Slavic that ambled in front of you.

Just as the two of you reached the meeting room door, Ivan stopped abruptly, and turned around, gazing down at you. "Before we enter this room, I hope that you remember what I told you, Beilschmidt. It would be quite an inconvenience of you to disobey my orders." He said with a certain teasing seriousness. "I am not looking forward to pulling you from this meeting, because of your easily-maddened tendencies. We have a lot to discuss today and I don't intend to stay for an extra day just to negotiate on a few terms. So, I suggest that you be on your best behavior. And if you succeed at reaching my expectations, I might consider bringing you to more conferences...that is if you can."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him in annoyance to his childish tone. Instead, you raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I will if you drop your fucking attitude, Braginski." You muttered lowly, almost gritting your teeth.

"Look who's talking." He mocked, noting that you were already heated with aggression. "You only further prove my point." A few tense seconds passed and all that could be heard was the muffled shouts of English tongues from the meeting room. Then, sighing curtly through his nose, his lips parted as he chuckled softly. His head tilted down at the manila files as if he were in thought. This caught your attention quickly.

"Well, isn't this just my luck." He mumbled, raising his head back up. Confused, you continued to stare at him with indifferent, (e/c) eyes. "It seems that I have forgotten one of my files. I must have left it back in the car."

You almost tsked under your breath. "Tough shit. It's too late now, Ivan. We're already an hour late." You crossed your arms in a vexed, yet relaxed manner, giving him the notification that you were getting quite impatient with him. You were hoping that it would change the Russian's mind and cause him enter the meeting without it. It was only a short percentage of information that he was missing anyways and it was nothing important since you studied all four of the files, the one that he was missing was the smallest.

"How correct." Ivan smiled, showing a hint of his teeth through his pale lips. "It would be rather rude for me to keep our acquaintances waiting on us for a just a simple file." His smirk then shrank in size, but it did not disappear. However, it became much more aggressive within the next couple of seconds. "Be a good pet and fetch it for me." He grunted childishly, his eyes sparked with a sort of irritation. He was insultingly treating you like a servant at the moment. When was he not?

Your brows immediately furrowed into a livid expression and your eyes opened a bit wider as if they were in disbelief. Nothing, but anger flooded your face. The blood rushed to your neck and the skin boiled with a simmering fire. A sudden thought skipped and trampled over your brain. It was the only raging factor that plummeted your entire head. He's obstructing you from the meeting.

It was minor theory, but it was the only theory and it was the largest possibility. His motive could have been for many reasons. He definitely did not want you to engage in a conversation with Ludwig or make any sort of gesture to him. Ivan even requested that you wouldn't specifically talk with anyone while you were getting ready for the day. Even the slightest eye contact could make things antsy for you and Ludwig. It was the sickest way of torture Ivan could press onto you and your brother. But that was not the overpowering reason, no. Just the feeling, the truth, the fact that you and Ludwig were just a few yards away from each other, with the exception of the tall door, made you extremely anxious. Christ, you were in the same building with him! The same floor, too!

But now, Ivan was sending you away from the conference for a few minutes, if not, longer. Which would give him plenty of time to hand off pivotal information to other countries that were transitioning to communism. Though this wasn't an immense concern for you, it was for others, America being the biggest worrier. This Red Scare could result in better and advanced trained militia in the metamorphosing, dictating nations and weakening, fearful countries that were once the Law and Order of the world. Now, this was something you were not comfortable with at all.

Squinting your eyes, you confronted him before you made any other decision. Either you said something or didn't speak at all. "Stalling much?" Ivan exhaled a laugh through his nose at your peeved accusation, this turned the temperature up in your bloodstream. "Stalling? In what way am I stalling?" He chuckled, switching the bundle of files to his other arm.

"You really think I'm that stupid, don't you, Braginski? Clearly, you are not wanting me to join the meeting so quickly. In fact, it sounds to me that you are hoping for me to be tardy when you apparently invited me to come with you to discuss trade and economics." You snapped in a mutter, glaring up at his violet orbs. "But...not you?" You raised an eyebrow. "So, what is the motive here, hmm? Is there something that you don't want me to hear besides our negotiations and these so called terms? Because I'm not having this." You shook your head lightly in disagreement.

"If there was, then I would be more than happy to let you, but I'm afraid, milaya, there isn't. Now," He continued in a sort of sing-song voice, attempting to rid himself from the conversation and send you on your way, "don't be late and tell the guard that I sent you. Oh, and before I forget, I hope you're still fluent with English." He moved to turn and open the door, but his extending arm was snatched before he touched the handle. He glared down at you now, his smile was replaced with a sudden frown and his eyes were a bit narrower, darker even. He seemed frightening, intimidating to say the least.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell's going on. If all we're going to be talking about is economics and trade, then why are you hindering me from an important event with this foolish task?" You growled in a hushed, stern voice, your grip tight as shackles on his arm. The rim of the bottle in your soul was about to overflow into an explosive eruption. Anything could burst the bubble now. Today was the day...

"It's none of your concern, Nazi." Ivan snapped nastily, obviously now irritated once again with your sudden and disobedient action. "I must congratulate you for your outstanding disobedience and the wasting of my time. Consider your separation from Gilbert to be extended by another year. Now, get what I asked for before I drag you out of Vienna myself and back to the training field where you belong. When there is something that I don't want you to hear. You. Will. _Not_. Hear. It." He threatened, his tone like a spitting hell-dog with poisonous venom dripping from its fangs. "I expect you to come back to this room with an improved attitude." Roughly, he shrugged your iron-grip off of his arm and opened the door to the meeting room. He then ducked inside and closed the door behind him, leaving you alone to retrieve his pointless file.

There was a distinct, knifing feeling that dived down your chest and into your stomach. It was a feeling of anger. An anger that you knew too well. The scene that played out just moments ago reminded you too much of the performance day when Ivan threatened you, nearly shaking you like you were a doll. But it wasn't his leather hands that shook you, it was the words. Your hands twitched at your sides as well as your fingers. Quivering with mixed, peculiar emotions, your hands glided unsteadily and delicately against the cool, glossy, java-stained door. You found yourself pressing the tips of your fingers against the door, pushing it weakly...far too feeble to open or even emit a sound of squeak or crackle from the door.

You were so close and you could not believe it. So close to see him. Your brother. And yet, you were still so far away from him. You felt that as long as the Russian was there, the wall of separation was there as well to blind and forbid you from Ludwig. A permanent border of segregation. The cold, flat door was pressed up against your forehead, somehow compressing the icy wood through your hair. This freezing wall of fear and restriction was cruel and a destitution. It was not a metaphor. It was real.

You wanted to walk right through that door, crash right through it, demolish it. How you desired to stride past Ivan and his smug, infuriating intellect and to Ludwig, taking him in such an embrace. Imagining the strong arms of your brother around you was a bitter, yet sweet fairy-tale. It was not possible. Not for another few years. The leech of history drained this freedom from your entire life. You could no longer hear the boisterous voices of the meeting, probably, because of Ivan's sudden entrance. But you were certain that it was because of your hateful pulse that was so unrelenting with its pace and the fact that you were heading in the opposite direction of the meeting. Downstairs towards the black car.

 

 

Taking a deep, but quiet inhale through his nose, Ivan stood up straightened himself, facing the many nations that silenced themselves completely at the lengthy table. The heated argument between the American and the Vietnamese woman suddenly halted. Ivan knew it had to have been them who were quarreling in their words, because they were the only countries standing up. Alfred seemed to be the concerned person in the dispute for his brows were furrowed in anxiousness and unease. A bright, fretful glaze was simmering in his blue eyes, past his glasses. The young, Vietnamese woman was a bit unknown to the Russian nation, but she was no stranger. He had seen her before and he knew who she was, of course, but he had no knowledge of her name or age. Just her governmental profile and her problem.

She, however, had a much more vivid color of emotion on her face. Her brows were angled in an enraged position and her lips were a pouted frown of viciousness. Her cheeks were a bit blushed and her dark, brown eyes were severe, unsympathetic if you could say. Ivan could think of only one fitting adjective to describe her at the moment. Pissed. And he could understand why.

Ivan glanced vaguely at the rest of the countries that had gathered and sat at the long table, their documents spread out in front of them. He took great notice to see that only a fraction of the European nations were at the table. Many of the reserved seats were empty with no country representatives to claim their desk-plate names. This absent list included the nations Switzerland, Austria, Hungary, Southern Italy, China, the Netherlands, Belgium, all Nordics with the exception of Denmark and Norway, and Poland. Kiku was absent, because of the reconstruction of his country. Ivan heard many rumors such as that he was still in the hospital or that he was at his home, resting and recovering from his lasting injuries. Though his sisters weren't present, Ivan knew that Natalia and Katyusha were too busy setting up government policies in Belarus and Ukraine.

He figured that not a lot of people would show up, because everyone knew that he would attend this meeting and that he would intimidate everyone with you at his side. But it also could have been that no one really wanted to deal with the overwhelming recovery and digest of the previous war. Not to mention they had their own problems.

Nearly everyone was in the same posture, which was in mostly alert and attentiveness. Their many, multicolored eyes were fixed on one person and one person only, and that was the Russian that had just entered the room. Ivan laughed internally as he made a slight glace at the quivering curl that stuck out from Feliciano's hair. _Pussy._ Ivan thought as he twitched the Italian a small, sweet smile. Everyone in the room would be speaking one language today. English.

"I am terribly sorry for my tardiness. I got caught up in some business this morning." He said as he walked towards his assigned seat, but he had to pass the American on the way. Ivan and Alfred kept their lazy, yet tense gazes on each other. "Please. Continue." He whispered mockingly as he passed behind the American, who was now glaring over his shoulder. Lightly, beckoned with his free hand before he pulled out the chair and sat down next to Mathias and an empty seat. Yours.

Alfred couldn't help, but sternly glare at the Russian. He had some hesitation in his voice, as well as a hint of skepticism as he gave Ivan some sort of greeting. "Thank you for joining us." He turned his head towards the Russian slightly and nodded curtly, still minding the Vietnamese nation that was on the other side of the table, who was keeping a deadly glare on him. Ivan was immediately interested in this.

"May I ask if (Y/n) Beilschmidt will be joining us today?" Alfred asked Ivan in a stubborn voice, turning his head slightly towards the man that just entered the room. "She will be here in a moment. I sent her on a quick errand." Ivan replied,

He put the files onto the flat surface of the table as Alfred began again in a severe tone. "As I was saying, the United States is not going to tolerate these Vietcong militants. We've already planned the tactics-" He was quickly interrupted by the shrill voice of the Vietnamese woman. "Oh, shut up, Alfred! I can handle this war on my own. I never asked for your help. I don't need you fucking my nation up!" She growled, gritting her teeth and furrowing her brows. Her body language was tense like a feral cat in the streets of a rambunctious, villainous city.

"You've been losing this war for quite some time. They've been taking more and more acres of land everyday and it is something you should not take lightly. You have a serious problem with the leadership in your government. They are not doing enough to provide safety to citizens and pedestrians." Alfred said, pointing at her.

"I do not have a problem!" She snapped as she shook her head lightly in fierce disagreement. "If there is any problem that I have, it's you!" Alfred actually raised an eyebrow. Ivan noticed the American's eyes as they became a more piercing, threatening blue. "Excuse me? How am I the problem here?" Vietnam laughed at the beginning of her excuse, making Alfred all the more nettled.

"Oh, Alfred. Aren't you forgetting about the USS Maddox, hmm? The ship that your militants fired at the Viet Cong? The American ship that attacked an unarmed Viet Cong naval vessel?" She growled with a sarcastic smile, her accent was much thicker now. Ivan could see her chest heave in frustration and rushing blood.

"They were not unarmed! I had my captains, sailors, and generals classify the ship and it turns out that it was a North Vietnamese torpedo boat. My militants fired, because the Viet Cong were throwing mines into the water and in the direction of the Maddox. They were committing a terrorist act against them!" Alfred glared, he was now gritting his teeth as well. Ivan laughed internally at the quarrel of words as it played out. He viewed it as a fight between two, arrogant children and their game of 'He or She Started It.' It was pathetic to say the least, two, grown, adult nations acting like delinquents without parental vision.

As Alfred spat out more vital information at the young woman, Ivan felt a pair of eyes on him. Heavy, vengeful eyes. Blue eyes. Ludwig was silently glowering at the Russian from across the table and several seats down, next to Feliciano. His brows were dour, but his piercing, blue eyes were the gateways to a colossal hatred, a choleric substance that simmered and boiled like acidic poison. But he sat there. Glaring. Staring. _Bastard._ Ivan thought the German was thinking. That and the many ways he could possibly brawl with the Russian, or perhaps how he could break his nose. But he could also be thinking about the real question that encircled his brain. _Where is my sister?_   Now that had to have been what was really on his mind. It was more than obvious and far beyond concern. What else could he possibly be thinking about other than that? Ivan could only glare back at him from beneath the brim of his hat, but he gave Ludwig a superior, wicked smirk.

"I find that too hard to believe, Jones. Oh, and might I add the fact that you stepped into their territory?" She muttered, bringing Ivan's attention back into the explosive squabble, her shoulders became much more hunched. Her ardent, brown eyes were flickering like harsh candles. "That's a lie, V, and you know it!" The American spat, he was beginning to get even more defensive. "The Maddox was ten thousand yards from the North Vietnamese border which was plenty of distance from enemy lines. It was on patrol to keep vessels like them out of your waters. They came onto your territory, V! They got closer and closer until they crossed your border!"

Alfred took a hold of one of the many files that was in front of him on the table. He pushed it across the table with his fingers and over to the Vietnamese country. "All the evidence is in there. Photos and written descriptions of what eye witnesses saw are within it." He said in a more relaxed tone, straightening his posture. Confidently, he felt that he had won the argument once and for all. With factual evidence in his possession, he sensed that there was nothing he could lose. "So check your facts before checking your conclusions."

But he was wrong. In fact, he was placed back at square one. The woman tsked angrily, crossing her arms. "I'm not interested in whatever 'facts' you have to push in my face, Jones." She barked, not budging with the so called evidence that Alfred put out in front of her. It seemed that her mind was set on something else. "I don't need your help in this damn war and that's final. I do not have the time nor the patience for your fear-mongering hardheadedness. You've done enough by putting your agenda in everyone's business."

"Agenda?" Alfred frowned, a baffled eyebrow twitched into confusion. "The Red Scare, Jones? The governmental theory that you've been trying to put to death for countless decades? Ring a bell?" She mocked, cocking her head to the side, jeering at the American like he was an idiotic school boy. "How about you just leave my country alone, Alfred, so that I can figure things out for myself? Because you just think that everybody has to be just like you!" She then extended her arms out to the side of her as if she were giving praise. "I am America, the greatest country in the world. And everyone should listen to me, because I help everybody. Look at how _great_ I am!" She was mocking him now in a nasty way, giving a crude impersonation of the American. This gave Ivan great pleasure.

"Is that what you want in your country? Communism?" Arthur lidded his indignant, green eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek lightly out of irritation. "I never said that!" She yapped, scowling at the British man, shaking her head once again.

"Be sensible, V. Jésus Christ!" Francis boasted, turning his indifferent face towards her. He stopped twirling his long, blond hair around his index finger, letting the lengthy lock fall back into place. His sapphire, blue eyes were a bit galled as he continued to stare at the Vietnamese nation with a tough gaze. "Sensible?! My people are dying and you think I should be more sensible? What do you suppose I do? Just become another constitutional clone of the nations who view themselves as greater beings?" She spat at the French man in defense, she seemed as if she would explode at any given moment. Minutes. Seconds.

"Not at all." Ivan said calmly and collectively as he adjusted the hat on his head, finally speaking out into the heated, oral fight. The Vietnamese nation turned her attention towards him, her face became less intimidating, angrily curious actually. Immediately, Alfred rolled his eyes and squeezed them shut out of annoyance. "You're the one to talk, Braginski..." The American growled as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to ease his throbbing headache.

"No need to get antsy, Jones. I'm just stating that she has more options to decipher and choose from." Ivan slyly replied, gazing up at Alfred with tricky, purple eyes. Alfred chuckled in his throat halfheartedly, his face clearly showed inner dissatisfaction. "Like your option is any better." He replied, narrowing his eyes at the corrupt, Russian country that sat not too far away from him. Ivan shrugged smugly, his childish smile widening from cheek to cheek. "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm leaving it on the table."

There was a long, painful silence in the sizable meeting room. Nobody spoke up for several seconds, but there were several nervous glances between other nations. Their eyes were uneasy and shaken. The only, indistinct sound that could be picked up was the light shuffling of papers on the table. Lukas was preparing to leave. And a few others had the same idea.

"What is this option of yours?" Vietnam said hesitantly, furrowing her brows in secretive interest. "You've got to be kidding..." Arthur sighed under his breath in a mumbled whisper, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his blond hair, rubbing the fingertips against his scalp.

"Well," Ivan began, taking a glimpse at Ludwig before continuing, "I understand that these so called Viet Cong have caused a bit of disruption in your country and there is a lot of genocide in the whole matter. But what exactly do they want from you? Because it sounds, to me, like they have something personal against you."

"No, it's nothing personal. They want power, sir. They are seeking a new government in Vietnam." She said, tilting her face up as if she were studying the man. "The citizens that have continued to stay loyal to me are beginning to lose hope that I can take this matter into my own hands. I'm actually on the fence with this... I'm not exactly sure if I should change this government or let it be. I have already lost so many of people and I don't know if holding out is the right decision..."

"Since you are unsure of how your actions will be judged if you were to keep the existing presets, do you have a perception of how things will turn out if you did change the cogs and screws of your country?" Ivan questioned, faintly rubbing the edge of the table with his gloved thumb.

"I think it would have either a negative or a positive outcome. It could go either way. There would be no telling which way it would go with my citizens." She said with a sigh, shrugging her shoulders as the anger from her previous outbursts decreased to a mild standard. "They are a bit strange with the Viet Cong. It's almost as if they could care less with which way the politics sway."

Overly content with himself, Ivan slapped on an even warmer, misleading smile that could fool the most naive people. "Then, I see no problem with the shifting of your government. If your people are comfortable with either side, then there is nothing to worry about." He beamed. Then, Vietnam narrowed her deep, brown eyes at the Russian out of skepticism. "But...aren't you the one who is currently allies to the Viet Cong?"

Ivan gave a slight chuckle at the question he was just asked. "Yes, I suppose I am. But I am aiding them for good reason. I don't know if you mind me asking, but aren't the Vietcong your people as well?" Vietnam silently swallowed before answering, seeming to be dumbfounded after she was asked the stunning question. "I believe so... Yes."

"And they want a revolution, if I may call it that." Ivan lidded his sly, violet eyes. He could tell that he was about to win the settlement. "All that I am doing is fulfilling your people's desires. Governments rise and fall. It is a part of the human nature that these things happen. Part of the reason why is because people are not happy. They want an establishment that lives up to their desires. Now, I am not saying that you should necessarily change your current citizens, but what I am saying is that you should change yourself. If it's a new and improved Vietnam that they want, then they should get it. It's the people that shape the country. It cannot be the other way around."

"Says you, Ivan..." A voice mumbled in thick German. Once again, the room was silent as heads turned. It was a low mutter, almost from that of a growling wolf. Grudgingly, Ivan shifted his eyes over to Ludwig who had an unpleasant glare in his blue eyes and an unforgiving scowl across his lips. The Russian chuckled in his throat once more. "It seems we have another opponent at the table." He remarked, a grin danced across his mouth.

Ludwig remained silent as Ivan continued to gaze at him with taunting, purple eyes. He felt the urge to snap at him for it, but the feeling of staying calm and focused was heavier. He was now regretting interrupting the two nations. Keeping a heavy, intense glare on Ivan, he exhaled hot breath quietly through his nose. However, the Russian did not cease to wedge into the German's brain. "Well, what is it that you disagree with, Beilschmidt?"

Ludwig actually bit his tongue for a moment to hold back anything vulgar. "Take a look at yourself. You're not fooling anyone, Branginski, and Vietnam is old enough and smart enough to understand that." Ludwig said, just loud enough for everyone to hear him. "The people who dwell within your borders are suffering and perishing due to the ludicrous laws that your government put in place. Meanwhile, the citizens within the establishment live in riches. The taxes and payments are so corrupt that by the time the middle class and below get their paychecks, there is almost nothing left. Your army has been pressuring everyone, even the most unexpected countries. You're practically the epitome of dictatorship."

"Remind you of anyone?" Ivan responded, trying to sound cunning as he hinted at the previous war. Ludwig narrowed his eyes even more, the blue daggers were slicing through the Russian's sly face. Out of the corner of his eye, Ludwig could see Alfred's anxiousness from beneath the skin on his face.

Ludwig held his tongue and released a inaudible sigh through his long nose. He had nothing more to say. Winning an argument against Ivan was not easy to accomplish for many. And he failed. Now that Ivan was bringing up the war and pointing out the hypocrisy of Ludwig's words and previous wrong-doings, the chances of him succeeding in the oral fight was slim. There was no way out of it if he continued. It would only make him look worse.

Ivan turned back to the Vietnamese country and inhaled through his mouth before starting his response, making the beginning of his sentence sound airy. "You see, V," Ivan started, glancing back at the German who had hell boiling in the blue of his eyes, " Ludwig here tried to control his people, change them into the most eugenic monsters possible. He even went out of his way to persuade his people to eliminate everyone who wasn't like him. Jews, Catholics, Blacks, Slavics, communists. Even your people. The list goes on and on, V."

"Like you're any better." Arthur boasted, his monstrous brows were angrily furrowed now, his blond bangs just shaded his scowling, green eyes. Lukas had shut the door softly. He left.

"Maybe Ludwig was taken advantage of over a decade ago, but you're continuing the same bloody torture, Ivan. His may have lasted six years, but you have been oppressing the same genre of people who are different from you for several decades! Not to mention the cascading amount of people who are fleeing East Germany and (country name) to escape your leech of a government. And from the mouths of the people who are from those two countries, not a lot of good talk comes out of them. In fact, their descriptions are quite disturbing. I mean, we have absolutely no idea what you've done with Gilbert! And you promised not to shadow him or his sister from the world. And, yet, here you are, hiding them from the press and society, free to do what you want with them." Arthur was pissed now, a growling lion that stared into the dark eyes of death. Ludwig remained attentive and still, so still that no one could tell that he was breathing. And all throughout the damning insults and facts that were sputtering out of the British man's mouth, Ivan was smiling. Smiling. Smiling.

"By the way, Braginski, you did say that (Y/n) Beilschmidt would be here today. Well, she's not in the goddamn room and it's been nearly twenty minutes!" Arthur snapped, his accent was thick, it almost couldn't be understandable to some even though it was English. "Where the hell is she then?"

"I told you, Kirkland. She is simply retrieving a file that I accidentally left in my vehicle." Ivan said, gesturing his gloved hands in a 'no harm done' sort of way. Almost no one saw this as believable. It had to have been a lie in their eyes and in their ears. "This actually brings me to another point concerning everyone's worry for Gilbert and (Y/n) Beilschmidt." Ivan grinned, opening one file and taking out a few documents.

He held one in his hands and skimmed over a few words before looked up and started his sentence. "Gilbert is currently being treated for his weakness from the war and he has almost made a full recovery. He is now able to see, walk on his own, and move without immense pain." Ivan then put that paper down and moved onto the next. "Now, onto the important part." He mumbled mockingly, loud enough for Ludwig and the other allies to hear. This made the German stand up, causing the chair to screech out from under him, his face was clearly insulted and vexed. It was as if Ivan could care less on how Ludwig felt about his brother's gradually depleting health. The German already knew that the Russian was going to say something disgusting and nasty about Gilbert, but he did not expect Ivan to say that his brother's well-being was unimportant.

"Ludwig, no, please." Alfred raised a steady hand across the table, taking a step forward. The American's blue eyes were more than stressed and anxious. They were fearful. He definitely did not want a fight, especially not on the first world meeting in several years. And now that tensions were tightening between the Soviets and the Germans, things could go out of hand if Alfred did nothing to ease the poisonous atmosphere between the two nations. If they couldn't control themselves, there was a possibility that the presidents and chancellors could shut down world meetings forever.

After glancing at Alfred for a few moments, Ludwig said down slowly, keeping a horrid glare on Ivan. The smug Russian then continued. "I believe all of you know that she has pledged allegiance to the Soviet Union due to a legal contract that included economic and political benefits. She has agreed to all of the terms, including the obedience to the growth of my military. (Y/n) Beilschmidt has boosted my militia by nearly eighty five percent and it is continuing to increase every year." He put down the document and moved onto the next. "She has also agreed to allow our government into her own, basically replacing it. And studies have shown that there has been an improvement in her economy and her functionality."

Feliciano turned his head a hair to gaze down the table at Ludwig who was shaking his head ever so slightly at the obvious lie. The corrupt words that continued to vomit out of Ivan's mouth were understandable to the average fool. Not even Feli believed the toxic fumes that spread through his ears. But one person in particular did as Ivan trailed on and on, giving out lie over lie.

"It sounds like she has improved from this government of yours." Vietnam said, sounding astounded. Her lips were turned up slightly into a small smile. Ivan softened his eyes somewhat. "Indeed. It's quite remarkable."

Ludwig lowered his head and turned to the side, unable to listen for any longer. He knew how you really were. Alfred gave him the truth and nothing but the truth every few months through information and undercover, American agents. Ludwig knew that you were being harassed. There were pictures given to him from Alfred himself. The black and white photos and the journal entries with detailed descriptions proved how strung out you were, how you hunched over slightly, how your clothes were loosening. He couldn't even tell if you had make-up around your eyes or if Ivan had given you some sort of beating. You were suffering and releasing any of the information was dangerous. Ludwig dared not to boast against the compulsive liar that sat across and down the table from him. However, he made a small growl of a mutter under his hot breath which caught Ivan's attention. "Bullshit..." Ivan quickly snapped his head back to Ludwig and narrowed his purple eyes maniacally. "I'm sorry, Kraut, what was that? Could you repeat tha-"

"BULL! SHIT!" Ludwig shouted, creating a pause between his stentorian words, exaggerating his sort of sarcastic and irked attitude. "Don't shout!" Vietnam scolded, throwing the German a nasty, wicked glare. Ludwig shot the same expression back at her. He studied her eyes, those brown, naive eyes that screamed, that threatened him to shut the hell up. He began to sense a sapling of discontent and disrespect for this woman in the pit of his chest. The heat on his cheeks was pricking the skin with a tingling sensation. He could not believe what he was looking at and listening to. She was falling for Ivan's proposition.

"You're not actually buying this false propaganda that this Rusk put out in front of you. Are you this inexperienced?" Ludwig scorned in a choleric manner, not having any respect for this nation. It was clear that she had no regards for how he felt about the separation and the evidence that communism was the most ruthless government to ever walk the earth.

"Excuse me? Maybe I am." She snapped, sounding like she had a sense of pride in her words. "Mr. Braginski has improved, not only himself, but your sister and brother as territories. According to the statistics, they are doing better with the Soviet Union than with what your propaganda imposed. So what if your sister and brother were separated from you. It's what you recieve for your bleaching of the world. You were poisoning them with your corrupt redirect. If they stayed with you for any longer, they'd be just as bad as the previous dictator of Germany."

Ivan smirked as he intertwined his gloved fingers and rested his elbows on the table, placing his upturned lips on his hands as the argument carried out. His head tilted down, just to where his venomous, purple eyes were looking out from underneath the rim of his hat and his beige bangs. He had the appearance of a snake watching its prey from beneath a rock. Without further ado, she narrowed her eyes at him which were now darkened. "You're a murderer."

Ludwig stood up, making the chair screech out from under him. The Vietnamese woman stood up just as he made his move. "Wie kannst du es wagen!" Ludwig growled boisterously, gritting his teeth like a menacing dog. _'How dare you!'_ His eyes were orbs of blue fire that torched through every element, every material in the world. He felt nothing but heat around his body. He was a fire himself. Raising her hand with an uncharted speed, Vietnam slapped the German across the face. An ear-splitting smack echoed and thundered only once in the room from the singular blow.

Everyone held their breath. A silence poured into the room for a moment before it was washed away by the sudden mutter of Vietnam. "Don't talk to me in that mutt language of yours." Turning his head back to her, Ludwig gazed down at the woman who had just slapped him. His lips were parted just slightly out of shock. His cheek was already beginning to turn a light shade of pink. "You deserve to be abolished," She started, loud enough for nearly every country to hear, "just like your brothe-" SMASH!!!

Nearly everyone jumped in their seats, some stood up and stumbled away from the table as the deafening shatter of glass clashed in the room. A few of the nations released a surprised scream or shout of shock from the sudden eruption of noise. Everyone's attention was quickly turned to the origin of the powerful smash...all but Ivan. Their eyes gazed down and over the table in horror as their orbs came into contact with the fallen country, especially Ludwig, who was standing right next her. Vietnam was on the floor, not moving. Pieces of ivory ceramic were petaled all around her head, some had a crimson coloring on the edges that were not supposed to be there in the first place. Blood.

Her long, dark brown hair curtained and hid her face as she lay there, her arms and legs were sprawled out to the sides of her. Ludwig stared down in fret as blood seeped through the Vietnamese woman's hair and pooled out onto the floor. Quickly, Francis rushed over and kneeled down to her, he placed a hand over her head, desperate to stop the treacherous bleeding. Curiosity then fled over nearly everyone...all but Ivan, who was still sitting in his chair in the same position. No one even saw the vase fly through the air. It was if it came out of nowhere, it came so fast! But a question festered in their brains... _Who threw the vase?_ There were no vases in the meeting room, which immediately excused the possibility that whoever threw the vase was in the room. Vases were primarily in the hallway...and Ivan mentioned that you would be at the meeting after you finished the errand of his... Slowly and nervously, heads turned towards the door.

There, in front of the tall, double doors, stood a young woman in all black. A red, metallic star was pinned to the front of her trench coat. Her right arm carried a slender, manila file while her other arm hung stiffly at her side. Her (h/l), (h/c) hair framed her face... Her face... The areas around her eyes were a sick violet and black color. Her (e/c) eyes were the gateway to a sinister Hell, a hatred and a loathing that not even the most mentally insane could comprehend. Her lips were in the shape of an indifferent frown that contained a mysterious madness. There was only one country that matched that unforgettable description. And it was you.

 _It felt so good. It. Felt. So. Good._ Your brain replayed the masterpiece over and over. _"Brothe-" SMASH! "Brothe-" SMASH! "Brothe-" SMASH!_ It was a beautiful execution within your mind, a repeating finale that gave you a strong relief. However, it was such a pity for the moment to only last, well...a moment. Like the delicate and quivering legs of a butterfly, the fingers on your free hand twitched with sudden bursts of energy, moving lightly for a few seconds and then jerking into a much more exaggerated shutter. The bottle within your head had shattered and its condiments indulged you into a deep, dark ocean of hatred. Pure anger that almost no one could describe. You could have sworn that for a split second your vision was bloody red and your target was completely white. And the next thing you knew, you ducked back into the hallway, snatched a vase from the hall desks, and chucked it at the nation. What the Vietnamese woman said and did was nothing but insulting. To you, she deserved the sudden backlash. And Ivan's basic outline of you only added more sticks and logs to the fire, describing you as a simple lapdog to an owner. _How astounding..._

You had only entered the room about a few minutes ago and your eyes and ears had recorded every bit of the argument in front of you, but your entrance was so quiet, so stealthy that nobody seemed to notice. Not even Ludwig noticed you and, from where he was sitting, he was facing the door. _He probably didn't recognize me..._ You thought as the anger continued to plummet on your head. Finally, you stared at your brother after gazing at the area in which the Vietnamese woman stood. Those sky blue eyes were staring right back at you, wide, surprised...afraid. But you did not feel any anxiety as you stared back at Ludwig, the brother that you had been separated from for over a decade. It was as if you had seen him just hours before... And you hated this feeling. Heat was racing throughout your bloodstream as you finally moved. The silence was what you needed to recover from the snarling nation that assaulted your brother.

You straightened yourself and confidently strode towards Ivan, a few countries moved back as you came closer to the table, afraid that they would anger you. Then, you reached the Russian who remained in his seat in the same position. He was breathing normally, but he did not move. However, you could tell that he was apoplectic and filled with rage. You could barely see his sinister, violet eyes, but his smile was no longer upon his lips. Instead, there rested a horrid scowl. Taking the file out of the crook of your arm, you gently plopped it in front of him along with the other files and scattered documents. You dropped it as if it were a poorly cooked meal that included harsh service.

No longer did you want to be in the room. It was clear to you that things would continue to rise with heat and curses if you stuck around. You would possibly lash out again and spill more crimson upon the floors and walls. Once your bottled anger cracked and erupted, there was going to be a hungry genocide that would overrun your brain and take control of you, quenching its murderous thirst. Turning on your heel, you headed back to the door with light steps. But before you opened the door, you turned towards the nations in the room with apathetic madness within your (e/c) eyes. But your lips smirked slightly as your fingers traced the edge of the door. "Sorry about the mess." You simply said, having no pity or remorse for the nation that lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor, and you exited the meeting room, closing the door behind you softly.

Ludwig continued to stare at the door. He was not sure who he had just seen enter and then exit the room. He knew who it was and yet, at the same time, he did not. She was his sister and she was not. Ludwig was then ripped from his blank stare as Ivan stood up, making the chair screech out from under him. The Russian was collecting his files and documents, placing the papers into the manila folders carefully and calmly. He was taking his dear time to pack up and leave the meeting. Alfred and many of the other countries did not move or speak a word and they promised not to until Ivan was gone. Gathering all of the folders into his right arm, he reached up and gripped the front of his hat, tipping his hat once and smiling.

"If you'll excuse me." He then turned on his heal and made his way towards the door. He opened one of the tall doors, stepped outside, and then closed it behind him. Just barely, his bootsteps could be heard walking down the hallway, then nothing. But Ludwig could only hear the vexed words that trembled within his mind as the other nations in the room spoke in shaky, panicked voices. _What has he done to her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has literally eaten away at my time :P It's crazy! But I managed to finish chapter 16. I'm sorry for it being over a month late and I am really sorry for not updating this fic. I know you guys love this story! And I'm still going to be updating. Some of the chapters will be delayed. But my literature and writing has definitely improved, which is good. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Tell me how the meeting went and what you think will happen next!


	17. Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has taken up so much of my time :( I'm so sorry that I'm not keeping up with these updates. I'm continuing with this fic and I'm lengthening the chapters for you guys. This chapter has over 12,000 words! Don't forget to leave a kudo if you loved it! I encourage you to comment and share your opinions and predictions! Enjoy!

The snow crunched beneath your feet though you were not moving at all. Snow did not fall from the bright, cloudy sky, but it covered and overwhelmed the tips of your boots. Already it was beginning to melt and river down the dark leather and back to the icy, white ground. Chill bit your nose as a weak gust of wind blew by, causing your (h/l), (h/c) hair to whip into the direction of the traveling air. Some strands gently glided over your nose like the feather of a bird to a child's nose. It tickled some, but you did not move your hands from your pockets. They were clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. Opening and shutting, opening and shutting into steel fists and then opening again to petite, fragile hands that had a hidden strength and power. They were easing themselves, calming down if you could say that. It was as if they had forgotten that they were once used for means of aggression, not just instinct and demonstrations.

It was a good relief. An excellent relief. The bottled madness that you had swallowed for so many long years had finally burst out of your body in a brutal and sudden way. Like a shot from a gun, it happened so quickly, so delicately with such little time. But it was interesting to you, even peculiar. While you were trekking back to Ivan's vehicle to retrieve the trivial file, an honest and planned thought popped into your mind. You definitely felt that you would finally snap today and there was no doubt that you would lash out, but you expected it to be Ivan. You had the conclusion that you would let the anger rush through your veins and take over like a sickness, but instead, it was someone you had barely known. It was not Ivan. Someone whom you thought would never make such fowl remarks and insults to your brother. Strange the entire targeting was, but you sensed that the attack was necessary and right in every way for you. An outcry and an assault like that was worth more than just a vase to the head. It was worth one hundred thousand bashes to the skull with a boot heel. _No...more than that..._

The burst was dangerous. Not for the time that it happened was it perilous, but the aftermath was. You had no idea how Ivan would react to the risky action. By the expression on his face, he was not at all pleased with your action and you sensed that the next time he came face to face with you there would be a heinous punishment. A slap across the face was even a possibility for your viable retribution. But knowing that he was trying to wedge into Vietnam's mind and entrance her to his corrupt side, you did what was necessary though you hated the woman for her naive and distasteful words. You thought that she should thank you for saving her ass for making such an idiotic decision. Maybe now she would have second thoughts about her favor on the war, meaning that she would not take Ivan's side. Or she could continue to sit on the fence for the entire time, allowing the Americans and the Viet Congs to do as they please to settle the bloodshed. Why would she want to be on a side in which one of the members attacked her? She would have to be a complete fool to crawl over to a communist country in need of help.

Another chilly gust swept by, causing your hair to whip faintly again as well as the very ends of your long coat. Just as the thought of the entire attack dissolved into your memory, another notion made an entrance to your mental focus. _Ludwig. Ludwig..._ You blinked slowly and allowed your eyes to wander the soft, ivory ground of blinding snow after opening them. A hot sigh exhaled silently from your mouth. Well...you were glad to see him at the meeting, but it was a shame that the moment only lasted a few seconds. A damn shame...

 _Idiot..._ You scolded yourself mentally, knowing that executing a move like that was foolish, yet you did it anyways. You shifted your feet just a hair. After so many years, you and him were finally able to be in the same room together. You could see each other. You could hear each other. And you threw most of that away to get a small revenge on the country that slapped him, offended him, and insulted him. A squeamish feeling scampered around in the pit of your stomach. You could feel it on your tongue.

Ludwig looked at you in a certain way, a way you had never seen him gaze before. It was a mixture of fear and concern as well as a sickened surprise. Those blue eyes of his had a glaze of...a feeling that you could not describe. But it was not a good feeling. Nothing could define this negative emotion that played out over and over again in your scattered mind. This scared you. Had your appearance taken him aback? Or was it the onslaught that made him look that way? These thoughts abused your stomach as your brain pondered for more treacherous possibilities. Were you the same (y/n) that he grew up with or were you a completely different person to him? _Shut up._

These thoughts fluttered away as if they were part of a vulturous flock of ebony crows. Snow crunched from several yards behind you as you continued to lean against the slick, black car, facing away from the conference hall building. Breathing slowly and steadily, you bit your inner lip. The person that was coming towards the car was walking hurriedly. Storming. The steps that trudged through the four inches of snow were heavy. Intimidating. Threatening. Angry. They were the drums of wrath on the cold, solid ground. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two. Louder now. One, two, one, two, one, two. _He's coming..._

You could hear the heavy boots stop for several seconds and then make their way around the front vehicle. The driver, who was patiently waiting in the front seat, turned on the engine, bringing it to life. The wind then ceased to blow against you, for someone was in the way of its desired direction. The pressuring steps stopped as well just a few feet beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could just see the arm of the Russian's dark green uniform. His long scarf was blowing forward, whipping in front of you. You sighed faintly once more, but out of your mouth. Your breath was clouding before your face and then it was snatched away by the weak breeze. You did not speak.

It was only until about two and a half minutes later that Ivan spoke up. You did not even have to count the minutes and seconds within your head. You already knew. His voice was a disturbing whisper, menacing in its own peculiar way. No innocent gestures, nor a tender and sugar-glazed tone. It was a complete, smothering loath. "Get in the car..."

No movement came out of you, yet words did. "You'll miss the rest of your meeting, Bragin-"

"GET!" He shouted thunderously, a deep bark had escaped the pits of his lungs, a tone that you had never heard before. He paused after the outburst before he continued with his command in a shaky whisper as if he were boiling his blood to a hellish degree. "....in the car..."

The already present scowl on your face became much more clear. After taking in a shallow breath and holding it, you glared at the Russian that was to the side of you. His lips were a perturbed, ominous line that contained no immaturity or inane smugness. The lilac irises within his narrowed eyes were a demonic, overwhelming purple that suffocated every breathing creature. Just beneath his bangs, you could see his dark brows, which were fixed into an enraged and unpleasant scowl. His scarf had even been adjusted and tightened around his unseen neck, a sign that he was in no mood for foolishness. Everything about his presence and threatening features sentenced his victims to the unforgiving gallows of his screaming and fuming fury.

Releasing the small breath that you swallowed, you sighed it out quietly, allowing it to escape from the cage of your lungs. The vicious glare that you kept on him did not vanish as you pushed your back off of the side of the car. Taking your hands out of your pockets, you gripped the handle of the door to the back seat of the car. Pulling on the handle, you popped open the door, all while you and Ivan kept nasty glares on each other.

But as you stepped into the back of the vehicle, a brutish hand shoved you inside. It definitely didn't take you by surprise, but the sudden force did startle you overall. You expected such a gift from Ivan and you knew that he was going to live up to giving you a severe punishment. Though the immediate prod was but a despotic push, Ivan kept his large hand on you, moving his grip to the back of the collar to your coat. He tighten his pliers of a grip on the thick, black fabric, controlling you as he pushed you further into the car. You did not fight this manual command. Part of you felt that you should let the treatment slide, slip away into a memory after the retribution was executed. However, a small portion of your rebellious behavior rattled the steel cage that it was buried beneath the crushed hopes and decisions. But this yapping voice could not be heard over the lapping waves of acceptance to the Soviet nation's order. It was easy...and low...

As soon as you managed to sit on the long seat, Ivan got inside, plopping the armful of files onto the floor of the car. He used his other hand to slam the door shut. He then turned that hand to pound against the wall that separated the front of the car from the back. Bang! Bang! The car then lurched forward, driving away from the Conference Hall. From the small, split second that you got before Ivan made his next move, you caught a glance at the white world that was now in motion.

Before you could make a precarious action, the Russian forced you onto your back in such a speed, causing your head to thump against the harsh leather and your hair to pool on its dark, level composition. His hands traveled directly to your shoulders, his gloved thumbs pressed roughly against your collar bones. This quick act caused your eyes to sharpen and your brows to increase in disarray. Yet, you did nothing but reach up and put your hands upon his chest, keeping him from getting any closer upon you. His lower body pinned you into place, making your legs immovable and useless.

Though you could find your way out of this troubling situation, you chose not to do such a thing. Of course you continued to glare up at him with unmoved eyes, but your teeth were slightly showing through the angry sneer on your lips. After the foolish shenanigan in the Conference Hall, you felt that this was a needed beating. Gilbert and Ludwig were not there to scold you or give you a just punishment, and you believed that the regular penalties that you gave yourself at times was not enough to quench your self-loath. And now this black, towering, unholy entity of a country was looming over you, his hands were vicious and controlling like an unforgiving and low-life brute.

The almost too well known eyes sank into yours like twisted daggers, his brows were furrowed with a hellish wrath. His lips were no where near a smile or a slight smirk. They were fixed into a nasty grimace like that of a mad, mangy street dog. The hat on his head was a threatening halo of green and red, giving Ivan even more height to his already towering stature. His expression was sinister, reminding you of a familiar dictatorship that consisted of men in dark uniforms with mysterious, yet angrily stern appearances that were put on display for everyone, every nationality on earth to shutter at and fear. This was your corrector.

"Give me a perfect reason why I shouldn't beat you right now, Beilschmidt." Ivan growled, his tone spat like a fierce mutt.

"You should have expected it." You murmured, sounding bored and indifferent with the Russian's clear threat.

"No! You SHUT UP, you little brat!" Ivan snapped in a controlled shout, lifting your shoulders up and then slamming you back down onto the seat with a mild force. "Don't you realize what you have done!?" He snarled in a low growl, his face much closer to yours. "I was just a minute away from having Vietnam in my hands and you blew it for me! I could have had control over one of Asia's strongest nations! And now that dough boy, Jones, has the damn woman in the tank for him!"

"After all this time, I though you would have learned a lesson from my behavior around bitchy people, Braginski." You mocked with a slight, teasing smirk, still unchanged from the previous shake Ivan gave you. "You should have thought your way through this. But you failed." Your sly smile widened, which made Ivan's brain spring with an alarmed flame. He could not help but see Gilbert Beilschmidt smirking up at him from within your complexion, within your (e/c) eyes. The same sneer, the same defiant aura, the same daring eyes, the same snarky and snide tone. Gilbert was looking out through your eyes, laughing from beneath Ivan. You were your brother. "I wonder what that pathetic leader, Joseph, is thinking right now. Probably deciding which side of the throne he would have you sit on in hell."

But your eyes suddenly furrowed even more, almost nastily as Ivan let go of one of your shoulders and raised his hand. The hand positioned in a backhanded state as Ivan's lilac eyes narrowed in an emotion of disbelief and utter disgust. Yes, Stalin was now well deceased, but he was idolized by his government, a god if you could say. And insulting the dead dictator meant one thing to Ivan. He was going to slap you, something that had never happened to you before, but to other disobedient officials. Ivan did not take Stalin's death lightly. For almost three weeks after the incident, Ivan was barbaric to his officials, generals, and other militants. But not you, mostly because you were ignoring him as best you could. However, in secret, you filled your heart with relief that the commie was dead. But his government stayed behind, giving Ivan all of the power.

It was to your surprise that his gloved hand stayed in its place and instead slowly tightened into a ball. Even though you kept the fist in your sights, you did not take your intense eyes off of Ivan's. You stared into the insane purple orbs without fear, a determination that no other being could have when facing a demonic being. Moments passed and the only sound that could be heard was the hum of the engine and the unsteady breathing of Ivan's lungs. Patiently, you waited for him to strike, for him to take that swing which you could easily counter. It was like he was having an internal fight with himself. _Come on, Ivan. Make a move so I can take my turn._  You thought, baiting and taunting the Russian, eager to give him a handsome bruise on his lip.

The leather squelched as it was squeezed into the compact fist. It actually started to twitch and shake as it continued to get tighter. Quietly, Ivan exhaled through his long nose and lowered his hand slightly, but his face was still enraged in his flaring anger. "You're lucky I don't hit women." He said under his breath, clearly not any less irritated.

This response made you snort at the back of your throat, almost making you laugh, but your smirk had disappeared. Your face was washed with a certain seriousness. Ivan could and couldn't believe that this expression of yours was disappointment. "Pitiful." You muttered in a downhearted timbre.

"JUST!" Ivan hollered in his strong, Slavic language, raising his fist up higher and holding it there for a few moments before slowly lowering it back to your shoulder. "Shut...up..." He lowered his head from your face, lidding his eyes. "Shut up and let me think for one fucking minute."

This made you chuckle finally. "I didn't know you never planned any punishments for me. I guess you really do talk big." Your brows were even more nettled than before. Realization flooded your brain. Ivan was nothing but a bluffer. "I expected more from you, Braginski."

One of his hands went to your jaw, taking a hold of it in a controlled, tender, and awkward manner. The leather was actually warm against your skin, obviously from Ivan's vexed and boiling blood. "You do not have permission to talk to me like that, milaya." His grip got tighter and his voice turned into a gruff mutter as he shook you vaguely. "I own you." You did not wince, nor did you take your unblinking glare out of his eyes. "You don't own shit." You hissed through your teeth, legitimately enraged at him. "Oh, I know exactly what I am going to do with you." He whispered with a grumble on his tongue. "There is no way you are getting out of this one without a reminder."

 

The sky had gotten dimmer somehow and it was only about 2:30 in the afternoon. You figured that another snow storm was about to plummet upon the city of Vienna, coating the streets and the tops of roofs with its white, consuming blanket. That and the driver had gotten lost in his sense of direction, causing Ivan to become even more peeved, if that was even possible. The area of Vienna in which you and Ivan were staying was fairly friendly, soft in image and aroma. No tall structures, no cars. Just level, peaceful, and small houses that puffed grey smoke from their chimneys. It was the typical Austrian outskirts of the capitol. Traditional and cozy was the entire style of the homes and small businesses.

When you had arrived the day before, there were several children in the street, building snowmen and having innocent snowball fights. It had been far too long since you had seen such petite, youthful people. Seeing a child in Moscow was a rare and almost unnatural sight even though it had an alarming population. The youth weren't the nicest in the snowy country either. They would instantly recognize you and immediately frown and run off. Some would dash past the training field along the tall barbed enclosure while you were instructing in the snow and mockingly yell. "It's the Nazi lady!" How it irritated you... You weren't even sure if you could stand any children after the separation.

But once you and Ivan stepped out of the car on the day you both arrived, several mothers opened their front doors and kitchen windows, calling their children inside immediately. There was no doubt that they hadn't seen Ivan's uniform and red star on your coat. Not to mention the armed soldiers that guarded your door at inn you were staying at.

The street was empty and awfully quiet. Even the whipping wind made no such sound as snow blustered through the freezing air. There were no children to be seen, nor adult people. It was as if the car's entrance had scattered everyone to their homes and the cats to their allies. It was a ghost town. A deserted street with no life, no happiness. Just gloom and bitter coldness.

You were sitting up now, facing the window and your back was to the Russian. Almost as icy as the outside world, Ivan's hands were tight around both of your arms, holding you with great strength. Though he wanted this control over you, he did not cuff, hold, or tie your wrists. This was most peculiar, but you did not have to dwell and think about the odd touch.

Ivan suddenly jerked you towards him as soon as the door on his side popped open, letting a gust of wind to sweep inside. The handling was rough and bitter as he climbed out of the car, dragging you out with him. Your unsteady toes barely touched the snowy ground, mostly because Ivan was practically holding you up above the ground, but not by much. The wind was definitely picking up. He hurried you along to the inn with no time wasted, taking long, heavy strides that were nowhere near as compatible with your legs. He held you somewhat in front of him and somewhat to the side, just to where his legs were leading yours, allowing him to walk as quickly as he wanted.

You stumbled along with him, not saying a word, but your tongue desired to break through your teeth and snap at the Russian. _Let go of me! You're being a child!_ Is what it wanted to say. But no such thing happened as the two of you reached the room you were both staying in. His hold had not ceased and neither had his temper. You could see his hot breath clouding in front of him and his face was still engaged with threat and grudge. His beige hair and the tip of his hat were covering his intense eyes. The scarf around his neck flapped in the wind, taking an angry flight.

The door was not locked. You knew it wasn't. Ivan never brought the room key with him and you didn't see him lock the wooden plane shut while waiting for him in outside that morning. He probably figured that no one could get into the room because of the two, intimidating soldiers that guarded it. And no one in their right mind would commit such an action against members of the Union. As Ivan drew close to the door, the two armed soldiers instantly took a step to the side to let Ivan pass. They took the hint and could tell he was not in a good mood. Ivan let go of one of your arms for a brief moment to rip open the door, not spoiling any time to get you inside.

After hauling you inside and closing the door behind him with his foot, Ivan pushed you further to the middle of the room, finally letting you go and allowing some distance between each other. He needed two hands to lock the door.

The areas on your arms where Ivan held you ached a bit, but you did not rub or soothe them. You didn't have the slightest hint that he would physically hurt you in this room. It would be a mistake for him to make a move and he definitely knew that. He was no idiot when it came to sizing you up. Locking himself inside a room with a warfare nation was suicide. He wouldn't be able to land a single fist or slap against you. Better yet, he would be the one with bruises and broken bones if he wasn't careful.

The loud click of the lock alerted you that the room was now sealed. The hotel room was dimly lit and cold as the outside air, just the absence of the cruel wind. The window by the door was covered by thick, dark curtains that draped down to the white carpet. One of the lamps on the nightstands was left on from that morning, revealing a rotary dial telephone beside it. The lamp's small, warm light allowed the naked walls some color to their white bodies, turning them a soft yellow. There was a radio in one of the corners of the room, but it looked ancient and broken, not at all appropriate for the rising era. Two suitcases were leaning against it. Yours and Ivan's. The messy bed in the room was large and it was the only one. You had a hard time ignoring it that morning. You wanted to make it. Ivan took all the pleasure in sleeping in it, but he even mocked you into actually joining him in bed. All of which is why you waited out the night in the armchair by the small fireplace. The coals were dead and grey, no longer possessing their orange, glowing fire.

You stood their in the middle of the room, not moving, but in a sort of eased stature. Knowing that the Russian was all but vexed with today, you perceived he wouldn't do anything but scold you, threaten Gilbert's separation, and mention of genocide and civilian raids by his military. Stuff that he had pointed at you for many years, but this was the last time you would be taking anything from him. He was the biggest fraud you had ever met.

You watched as Ivan straightened himself, raising his head to the ceiling, still facing the door. Trying to read his body language, you guessed that he was either gathering his thoughts together or easing his blood-curdling head. Both of the accusations could have been false and there were definitely more to come from your mind, but since you didn't believe in his threats anymore, he would probably calm down and forget the entire day after a few cigarettes and a bottle of alcohol. It's what he always does anyways. It's all you ever saw him do after the rare times when you've pissed him off. But if he were to commit an unexpected slap or move, you would be ready to counter it.

"You love your brother, don't you?" He finally said after a few seconds, only turning his head slightly, just enough to where you could see him glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were dark, turning the soft violet into a deep and haunting purple. His question sounded like a statement...a threatening statement. This made your stomach suddenly flop, but only shallowly. His tone didn't make the situation any better either. It was unsmiling and yet velvety, like he had more to talk about. And there was.

"And to think that you would have some...WITS!" He said, starting out as a whisper only to pause and shout out his last word. He turned to you know, his upper lip was tense, he was on the verge of gritting at you. "About your decisions and their effects." He continued, whispering like a mentally insane patient, putting his hands behind his back. He slowly stepped forward towards you, playing with his footing by turning the balls of his feet with every step, almost like he was sloppily dancing. His face was to the ground, his eyes were half open. Steadily, a frightening grin turned upwards on his lips, causing you to take half a step back.

"And yet you don't care about the costs?" He looked you in the eyes now, allowing you to see his deadly and mad features. "What? That they simply don't matter to you?" He moved his hands out in front of him to gesture. "That the outcome of your behavior and personal actions won't effect your brother? Do you really believe that I just BLUFF! And...not actually do anything to that failed nation you dare to call your blood?!"

"You can stop right there, Ivan." You murmured, blood rushing to your cheeks out of indignation. Ivan was getting scarily close to you. Keeping your hands on high alert, you allowed the distance to shorten between the two of you. "I've had enough today."

But Ivan kept drawing more and more closer to you as he laughed under his breath with an agitated sneer. "You've had enough? Nyet. It's never enough to really make you crumble. You really are stupid."

He finally reached you as he finished his sentence. He loomed over you like a reaper with an unforgiving darkness that could swallow up the last bit of breath in your lungs. You tilted your head up to make contact with the covert man. His hands then snatched the lapels of your coat and pulled you hard, staggering you closer to him. The leather hands held you their, nearly taking you off of the ground. Your hands clamped around his wrists in an iron grip, an attempt to keep the Russian from pulling you any farther off the carpet.

Tension rose between the two of you. Neither of you broke the unblinking and loathing glares that were forced upon within each of your eyes. Ivan then shook you fairly lightly to get your full attention and very quietly whispered to you in a shaky, yet daunting voice. "I must break you. I want everything you have. Everything." He growled slowly, and he stopped shaking you. "I must destroy the last and only reason you still fight."

Your blackened eyes widened slowly as he continued with gritted teeth through his frown. "I have made up my mind all thanks to you. The GDR shall be not that of East Germany, but that of Russia and only Russia. For now and all eternity. Gilbert is to be erased. And you know I have no problem with that." He began to smile as your face began to show traces of fret. "You'll be wishing that the wall were to be put in place after he's gone."

You could not speak and you could not move your loosening grip on Ivan's wrists. This only made Ivan smile more wickedly, seeing that he had finally got you off balance. Every word that streamed and hissed out of Ivan's mouth were not at all lies. They sounded like truths from God himself, unbreakable and sincere promises of pure wrath to the blood before you. All of your intentions were slowly drifting away down a stream of impossibilities other than just to give into this monstrosity of a dictator nation. But the thought of that catered to your uphold from the pure surrender. Now that he was opening up, you knew exactly what Ivan wanted from you. He had your deadly training, your land, your economy, everything that made you physically strong and wealthy. All but one, crucial element.

What he desired from you was the spirit of dedication and resistance, the hope that your family's freedom from his grip could be achieved, that your blood could not be claimed, owned, or shattered beneath the boots of any other nations. He did not understand that such a small nation like you could have such strength, such prosperity, such essence, such pride, such love. And yet he was the largest country in the world with just a fraction of what you had. But now that you, Gilbert, Ludwig, and the rest of your family were in such a pit of failure and struggle, he did not want you to have the dream of being a world power once again.

This is what he wanted to steal from you and your family, to rip the ambition from the Germanic soul and smash the fragile light, tarnishing it so that it could never be recovered again. It was the last bit of property that Ivan wanted. Without it, you still had a gigantic amount of control and power over him. And he wanted to destroy it once and for all. The occurrence that happened in the conference hall hours ago was nothing but a minor memory to Ivan now. This moment was all that mattered to him. He wanted you to be purely his.

"I'll stop you." You hissed quietly, not sure of what to do other than to just stand in his grip and glare up at him.

Ivan gave a curt, faint chuckle through his large nose. He then bent down even further to where his head was past yours, causing you to squint your (e/c) eyes in discomfort. His pale lips just brushed the shell of your ear which was underneath your hair. "Don't be too sure of that, Nazi." He purred in a soft, sweet whisper, releasing tenderly you. The panic swept through your brain, attaching itself like a hellish leech, but before you could dwell on the negativity, the phone on the nightstand rang.

 

Alfred pressed his glasses further up his nose with his index finger. The buzzing noise of the other end of the phone echoed in his ear. It was like a countdown to a failed attempt to probe at the Russian or to a successful and disastrous negotiation. Already the phone was on its fourth ring and there was still no answer. The American was sitting in his personal office in the conference hall which he asked of Roderich to provide for him for overseas meetings in case there was extra work to be done. He was half leaning half sitting in his arm chair, balancing a vertical pen between his finger and the surface of the cluttered desk. He wasn't in the mood to play with the coil that connected the head piece to the phone. He was too nervous.

Still, no one had picked up the phone yet. He had at least three presumptions why Ivan wasn't picking up. One, Ivan was most likely in a bad mood after the crazy meeting and refused to pick up or even approach the phone. He was probably too embarrassed to even talk to the American. As much as he detested and disagreed with the communist, Alfred couldn't blame him. Two, Ivan was ignoring the call simply because he did not wish to talk with anyone he did not know. That and he wasn't very fond of talking to Bavarians and German speakers, which was something Alfred learned from his 'spies' within the system.

But Alfred was not only worried that Ivan wouldn't pick up the phone, but he was much more concerned with what was happening in the place you were staying. Alfred knew that you and Ivan were in a small inn that was located on the outskirts of Vienna, another notification from American spies. They had secretly followed the Soviet transportation from the train to the car to the inn room. And they sat there and watched, waited, and observed all of the moves Ivan and his men made. They had even recorded the description of Ivan's handling of you after the meeting, reporting that he was holding you tightly and rushing you into the room. This rose Alfred's attention. He was afraid that the Russian might push you around behind closed doors, not that he knew that you were highly capable of taking care of yourself if that were the case. But if Ivan were to commit such an act as to causing harm to you or blackmailing any members of your family, the communist could be in violation of his contract and Alfred could strip Ivan of his custody over you and Gilbert.

Not only that, but another theory elevated to Alfred's concern. With all of the information flooding into his lap, Alfred noticed something peculiar about your behaviors between the time you had first started out in Moscow to that day. You were becoming much more passive with Ivan. One of Jones' agents wrote in a monthly report some years ago:

 

_"She is very defiant to Braginski. She is very disobedient to some of his orders, but she is progressively becoming more loyal, though she is very sharp with him. Some of our agents have reported that Ivan has been rumored to have raped (Y/n) Beilschmidt after being out cold from an operation on her wounds. But no one in the Union is sputtering out anything. Still, there is no sign of Gilbert Beilschmidt. He has not left Braginski's manor and we are still trying to get our agents into the building, but we are unsuccessful because of background checks for soldiers. However, the word is that the Baltics have gotten Gilbert back on his feet and he is much more stable with his overall health. We will keep in touch. Sincerely, Number 5."_

 

And then a recent letter goes on to describe your character a few weeks before your arrival in Austria with this quote:

 

_"She allowed him to touch her in a way that is described as sexual, yet affectionate. Many times in the past, we have seen Braginski touch her hair and her upper body. Every time these incidents happen, Beilschmidt would let him do this. It is very strange to see this behavior, sir, especially from her. There was no physical harm done, but the action is considered an assault and she did not look pleased with it. Our undercover scouts suspect that there is fowl play and possibly some blackmailing, but we need time to gather such evidence. Sincerely, Number 12."_

 

Now, this information was upheld from Ludwig and it would be a terrible mistake for Alfred to tell him. If that kind of data was given to your unshackled brother, who knows how he would react. Of course he could go ballistic and kill the first living being he saw, but he could also go into a deeper, darker state of depression and self hate. It would break his heart. No. It would destroy his heart; his entire chest. Not only that, but he could possibly become mentally unstable with the situation that he was already in. It would only make matters worse for him and his society.

But at the same time, Alfred felt that Ludwig had the right to know the devastating news. You were his sister after all and you were younger than he was. He was already thirsty for all of the information on his older brother. Of course he had to have concern for you and support you when you and Gilbert returned home. But only time could tell when Ludwig was ready to receive and handle such news. Alfred felt that it was right to wait for more evidence to know whether or not you were actually raped before splattering Ludwig with such a conspiracy theory.

But the contrast between the two updates were shattering. Alfred never would have thought of you having the nerve to allow Ivan to do such things to you. He knew that there had to be something mentally wrong with you. Agents that had seen you instructing militia in the training yard described your behavior as _"much more aggressive"_ and _"twitchy, almost like she was trying to earn something back that had been stolen."_ Then, it hit Alfred. The separation between you and Gilbert was causing you to become uncontrollable to everyone, but Ivan. Now, why Ivan? Because he owned you and he controlled the fate of your captive brother. One step out of line from you, and Gilbert could be cut from the line. This tactic wasn't new. It was well known to the American.

Jones's heart nearly skipped a beat when his ear picked up the sound of the other end. Someone had answered the call. Straightening his posture in the chair, he prepared himself, dropping the pen onto the surface of the desk. There was the natural sound of static on the line, but there was some other noises to be heard. Then, there was a faint, soft breathing. It was only until a moment later did Alfred hear someone speak.

"Hallo?" A female voice said, German was thick with the accent. Alfred was certain that it was you. "(Y/n)?" He said, hoping that it was the right number as well as the right person.

There was a long pause. "Jones?" You whispered back in a curious timbre, hushing your voice. Then, the line had static once more for a few seconds before a much different voice took over the call.

"How did you get this number, Jones?" A heavily Slavic voice growled, his tone substantially raged. This was Ivan speaking now.

Alfred guessed Ivan snatched the phone from you after you found out who the caller was. Narrowing his eyes, Jones took a controlled inhale through his nose. "Friends." He simply said with complete seriousness in his voice. He could hear Ivan exhale with frustration.

"I know you've been spying on me, Jones." Ivan hissed. Alfred waited a bit before responding. "And you as well." He sighed. "Look, I just want to talk."

Ivan snorted in disgust on the line. "Talk?" Alfred made his tone much more humorless, raised, and angry, switching the phone ear piece to his other ear. "About today Ivan! What the hell happened?"

"Are you a damn, blind fool, Jones? You were in the fucking room!" Ivan grunted, speaking with colorful vocabulary.

"Have you no control over, (Y/n)? Vietnam had to be rushed to the hospital for head trauma for Christ's sake!" Alfred said in a half loud, half hushed voice.

"What? You want me to pay for her bill or some shit?" He mocked nastily. "I hope you didn't call to tutor me on how I take care of my property." The Russian was getting much more heated. The American was afraid that if he wasn't careful with his words now, Ivan would hang up and never pick up the phone if it were to ring again.

"I called on behalf of (Y/n)'s mentality and handling." Alfred said after pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a risky statement and Ivan could take it as a turning point or a negative topic.

Silence dropped on the line. Then, Ivan began to talk again. "What do you mean? She's fine." He asked suspiciously. "No. Have you deprived (Y/n) of her ability to see her brother?" Alfred asked, narrowing his eyes that had turned to a darker shade of blue, almost a threatening navy. Again, Ivan went silent. Alfred rephrased the question, only this time with more forcefulness. "Ivan. How long has it been since (Y/n) saw Gilbert?" No reply. "Ivan! Tell me, goddammit! Answer the fucking question!"

A few seconds passed. "Fourteen years." Ivan muttered. Alfred raised a brow and opened his mouth in surprise. It was ridiculous. _Fourteen years._ That number shook Alfred's brain with an alarming quake. Fourteen years. He realized now why you had appeared so different, not so much in your physical appearance, but in your actions, your pace, your eyes. Ivan really did do a number on you and he didn't have to lay a hand on you to do so. But now his little game was up and he knew that the cat was out of the bag. It was an 'Aha' moment for Alfred and he wasn't ready for the answer.

This was how the Russian got to you and it was cruel and inhumane. The horrendously long separation was tearing your control apart to where almost no one, but Ivan could command you. However, it was getting to the point to where you were acting out of instinct. An inner, rebellious voice that was probing you to lash out at anyone who disagreed or offended your family. If there was any mention of Gilbert or Ludwig, you were destined to listen in on every word of the conversation. And if it was negative, you were determined to respond through bloodshed, which was perfect in the eyes of Soviet military officials since it would be useful for the Red army, toughening up the soldiers with your even more brutal behavior.

But Alfred was worried about another factor as well. If this segregation were to continue as it was, Alfred was afraid that Ivan wouldn't be able to handle you if you were to go completely insane, unable to calm down and listen to anyone. Ivan's plan was to make you understand one emotion and one emotion only. Coldness. And that would mean that you were to be classified as being too dangerous and to be...dissolved.

Alfred made a frustrated sigh, leaning himself back further in his chair. He ran a hand through his blond hair. "Shit..." He said under his breath. "Ivan, did you really think this through?"

"Don't question me, Jones." The Russian snapped. "I know what I'm doing."

"It doesn't seem like it to me, Ivan. Plus, you're in violation of your agreement to the negotiation." Alfred pointed out.

Ivan scoffed an irritated chuckle. Alfred pictured the Slavic rolling his eyes. "In what way, Jones? I haven't done anything physical to either of my properties."

"Maybe not, but you've definitely caused some mental damage to (Y/n)." Alfred said somberly. "So?" Ivan immediately belittled. "So, I'll talk to NATO and have them grant me custody over (country name) and East Germany." Alfred threatened.

Alfred furrowed his brows in rage as he heard Ivan laugh maniacally on the other end. He was seriously pissing Alfred off. The Soviet was acting like nothing could touch him, that he was basically an all powerful god that had inhuman capabilities. He was insane.

"You make me laugh, Jones. Like you and your whores of an alliance could actually do that." He mocked, sounding too cocky. Alfred made a long pause before answering. "We can and we will, Ivan. Or you can say hello to world war three."

"You're terrible at intimidation, yank." Ivan said insultingly.

"Ivan. Do me a favor." Alfred started, now getting the Russian's attention. There was silence. "SHUT! THE FUCK! UP! Listen to me for one damn minute!" Alfred yelled through the phone, slamming his fist down on the desk, causing a deafening thunder to erupt in his office. Bang! His upper lip quivered as if he were a snarling dog.

To his surprise, Ivan did not say anything back. He was quiet. Alfred couldn't tell what the Russian was thinking on the other side, nor did he know if he were smiling in a cocky way, but all that mattered was that he was quiet. "I'll make you a nice little deal, huh? How's about this, old sport?" Alfred now mocked in a hushed and hysterical tone, turning the tables on the Soviet nation. He was gesturing with his hand now.

"You allow (Y/n) to visit Gilbert every time you go to your humble abode and you can still have custody of them until the war tensions have decreased. OR! You can keep acting like a little dick and deprive (Y/n) of her fucking sanity and NATO and I take custody of (country name) and East Germany and strip you of the buffer zones that are so precious to you. But of course your going to be an arrogant cunt and fight for them. And, let me tell you this, Braginski. I have no problem dropping an A-bomb on Moscow as well if you don't stick to our agreement." Alfred stopped himself and swallowed shallowly. He was actually sweating and his face had become a red tint.

Ivan said nothing. He was still silent, giving Alfred the opportunity to finish his threatening proposition. "So what's it going to be, bud? Visits or another twelve million of your people dead?"

Static and quietness. That was all that emitted from the phone. A minute past and Alfred could hear the faint noise of Ivan's breathing. They were deep, slow breaths like a person in a void of thought.

Then, Alfred's ears and eyes perked as he heard a small chuckle on the other side of the line. It was a defeated, breathy, half-hearted laugh. Definitely Ivan's. Alfred's blue eyes widened even more, his stomach knotted in suspense. It wasn't until after Ivan spoke up did Alfred's mind let out a sigh of relief, a mental celebration with fireworks in all of their glory. "Today's just not my day, is it?" Ivan muttered. He was agreeing.

Alfred felt a bubble within him shrink, disappearing from his nervousness. He had actually won against the Soviet. "Reunite them soon. No later than five years or we will do something about it. Got it?" Jones wavered before hanging up. He heard a quick hum of an agreement on the other side. It was now that Alfred decided to let his rival go. After waiting another moment to recover from his outburst, Alfred nodded to himself with a relieved face, just to make sure the Russian was sounding completely truthful, that he was actually going to be obedient for once. "Goodbye, Ivan." With a curt reply, Ivan hung up. "Da."

 

 

With his hand strongly gripped on the phone's head piece, Ivan put it back on its holder. To his frustration, it wouldn't lock into place. He slid the curved piece of the phone along its rack, but it would fit into place. After a few seconds of no prevail, Ivan became impatient with the technological object and began to furiously hit the head piece against the dial face phone. Bang! Bang! Bang! Over and over again, he beat the little object, raising the corded mouth and ear set over his head and down upon the boxy holder, causing an awful amount of cacophony. This was his rage, one that you had barely witnessed.

Finally, Ivan stopped his tantrum and stood there in front of the short nightstand with a cracked head piece in his tight, gloved hand and a broken dial face at his feet that had toppled over in the mix of the matter. The corkscrew cord of the phone was stretch and far from being considered reparable. His breathing was heavy and slow. You could not see the expression on his face since he was facing away from you and you were some distance away from him. But you could tell his face had to be painted with an ugly frown and gritted teeth, along with deadly, furrowed brows and enraged, violet eyes. It was pathetic to watch. You wanted to laugh, but you felt that it was a moment to savor in silence.

"You really are something." Ivan muttered under his breath, possibly directing the comment to you. He held the broken head piece over the destroyed dial phone and released it lazily, letting it drop from his hand like water. The bell of the phone dinged as the piece fell on top of it. Narrowing your (e/c) eyes at him, you crossed your arms casually, hiding your anger from him with a mask of annoyance. He really was a child.

 

 

10:47 PM

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. And it was well over ten o'clock at night. From three o'clock to now, the afternoon was quiet and devoid of conversation, noise, dog barks, car honks, and radios. All that could be picked up was the snowy, howling, January wind that raged on outside. It was funny though, to you at least. You had hated the Russian winter so much, but the soft, white snowflakes that swirled through the air in Austria was delicate and peaceful, anything but harsh. The little frozen bodies looked like snowy doves fluttering to the ground, disappearing into the rest of the white to join the angelic flock. And yet, this was just a small peek of what you got from the crack of the thick curtains that blocked the window. Moscow snow, cruel. Vienna snow, gentle.

You were now sitting in the armchair by the small fireplace, wearing your dark, tight-fitting pants, warm socks, and a loose, grey, knitted sweater. Your arms were crossed and tucked, an attempt to keep yourself snug and warm. While being far too out of it, you decided not to stoke up a fire for the night. It would get a bit chilly in the hotel room, but not to where the air would prick your skin. You just didn't feel like going through the trouble that night and nor did you think Ivan would care. Or that you didn't care if he bitched about the cold air. He practically lives in it everyday.

It was strange that Ivan didn't speak to you for the rest of the afternoon. He didn't touch any of the food that was brought to him from one of his aids. He would usually talk if you were around, one on one of course just to annoy and mock you. It was very pleasurable for him to bother you, a performance of bitterness and entertainment from you. But his mood had changed ever since the phone call. You guessed that Alfred must have said something that dumbfounded the Soviet, catching him off guard. It wasn't hard to make the man angry, but he usually shrugged it off after a few minutes. Whatever the American said over the phone struck a nerve with Ivan and his attitude kept up. His whole demeanor flipped from angrily cocky to complete frustration and internal struggle. This was new.

The Russian had sat on the bed since the incident on the phone. He wasn't moving much, but you didn't spend a lot of time glancing over your shoulder at him. You did notice him taking off his hat and setting it down gently on the nightstand where the phone had stood. But that was all. This was a perfect opportunity for you to relax a bit and not have to worry about Ivan approaching you with an annoying and cocksure conversation. He was off in his own little world and so were you.

But you could not think about anything. Sure you daydreamed about your reunification with Ludwig and Gilbert, the happy and overjoyed expressions on their faces after being so stressed for so long. And the thought of petting the dogs at home, who may have passed away by now. The image of the two of the shepherds bounding towards you with their old tails wagging and their sad eyes twinkling with excitement and love. But picturing them with a mixture of grey hairs in their fine, black and brown coats made yourself shrink. _Time has its effects._ You thought, blinking slowly. It depressed you that time didn't effect you. But the people and the buildings that covered the earth and the creatures that crawled on the ground. Time only resulted on them.

Flink. Click. Your ears picked up a sound that gave you great distaste. Ivan was lighting a cigarette. The arrogant bastard. Furrowing your brows and closing your eyes, you sighed. "Take it outside." You said, loud enough for him to hear. To no surprise, Ivan had his way and responded. "You should be used to it, Beilschmidt."

"Not for my sake, asshole." You muttered back, opening your eyes halfway. "This is a hotel room. You can't smoke in here."

There was a brief pause. Ivan was probably glaring at the back of the chair that hid you with an irritated look. "And?" He murmured, and he smoked. Not bothering to scold Ivan any further, you dropped the useless argument. All you could do is feel sorry for the innkeeper. It would take her so long to get the foul and wretched smell out of the room.

Several minutes passed and the room filled with the scent of cigarette smoke. Definitely something your nose was used to. It was almost to the point to where you could tell what kind of alcohol Ivan was drinking that day. But there was no alcohol to be smelt in the air. He didn't drink today.

Instead of prodding him with desire of him smoking outside, you dared to ask him a question. You figured that if you weren't going to be taking a beating after all, then why not make this a confirmation. You felt that you needed it. A punishment that could soothe your self loathe for the action that you made at the conference. It was not the action itself that made you hate yourself, but it was acting like a fool and a deranged beast in front of your brother. You wanted to make sure that it would never happen again and it was Ivan who could do that.

"What did Jones want?" You asked finally, sounding as casual as possible. No answer. Just a faint sigh and some delayed coughs. Rolling your eyes in defeat, you dropped that argument as well. The Russian was not going to be cooperative tonight, not after today. If he wanted to sit and pout like a child, then it was fine with you. _Let the baby cry._

About another hour passed and the smoke didn't stop. It was continuously circulating through the room, drenching everything with its sooty scent. The sheets on the bed, the curtains, the carpet, the clothing, the walls, even you smelt like cigarettes. It would be impossible for the owner of the hotel to clean out the smell at this point. The cozy aroma of the room was destroyed and gone. Ivan had to have gone through at least five by now. _The idiot goes through nearly two packs a day._

Now that it was almost midnight, you hoped that Ivan would go to bed soon. Of course he would approach you and tell you to get some sleep, but conceivably he wouldn't exert because of how shitty the day was for him. All he would want to do is smoke and go to sleep and forget about everything that happened on the date of January 14th of 1959. You didn't doubt him.

You heard shuffling from the bed for a few seconds and then footsteps. Ivan had finally moved. The heavy and seemingly soft steps were coming towards you. Letting the breath escape your lungs, you prepared for the worst. Wrath was foreseen and it was approaching now. It was forceful, and yet it was not. It wasn't exactly what you expected it to be.

Ivan reached you. You glanced at him tiredly, not at all moved from his appearance. He was at the side of the chair with his arms at his sides. You noticed that he had removed his green, decorated coat, his gloves, his boots, and even his black tie. He still wore his pants and plain, white, button up shirt, but the first two buttons were undone. To top it off, he still had his scarf wrapped around his neck and flowing down his towering height. Finally, your eyes met with his. They were definitely harsh looking. His brows were furrowed in a state of great sternness and his frown was faintly present. But at the same time, he looked weary like a husband that had just come home from a shitty day at work only to find his supper cold. There was this seriousness in him and you couldn't read it. Not within the purple voids that possessed madness.

"Get in bed." He softly said, letting the command push off of his lips. Furrowing your brows in disbelief, you narrowed your eyes at his. You opened your mouth to respond, but before a single letter could leave your mouth, you were quickly interrupted. "Nyet! Don't ask me anymore fucking questions!" He yelled in a hushed voice. "Now stand up and," He raised his arm and extended it, pointing at the bed, "GET! Into that bed."

You were glaring at him with your eyes a bit wide. Fuming with heat on your ears, you turned yourself more over to him, trying to read him. He was gazing down at you with his tired and violet eyes, still with his face flushed with serious displeasure. This was your punishment. To sleep in the same bed with him. Was this a joke? At what cost was this to you?

A minute passed and Ivan hadn't moved. He still stood over you, waiting for you to get on your feet and walk over to the bed. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Just do it." He mumbled, exhausted. "And I'll discuss something with you."

This was sketchy. You couldn't describe the aching feeling in your chest as well as your head. Blood was pumping rapidly and frantically through your veins. He was being so sincere that it frightened you, raising the suspicion that this was all an act so that he could get you into bed with him. Yes, you wanted to know what the discussion was about and if it had to do with the phone call, and that was an overpowering possibility. But at the same time, it could be a sneaky trick of his. He would do anything to humiliate you.

"Please?" He whispered with a hiss, opening his eyes that were now filled with want compared to his angrily furrowed brows. The plead sent sparks through your head, throwing you off guard. You studied him closely. He was begging you. Actually begging of you. You looked away from him, but for only a second. Now you were taking him seriously. He never did this, not to anyone that you knew. You let a few seconds pass before you calculated and shifted through your options.

Holding your suspicion close to your wits, you painfully and slowly stood up. You didn't know if you were making the right decision, but your reputation was already ruined as it was and you needed the penalty. You kept a glare on Ivan, but you relaxed your brows a bit in a state of hard ponder. His expression did not change whatsoever. Pushing past him with hesitation in your footing, you cautiously walked over to the bed. Ivan walked over to his side after you reached yours.

You stood on your side, frozen with hesitation as your stared at the tucked sheets. The pulse in your neck continued to throb with anxiety, nervousness, and confusion. You were really doing this, the thing you promised never to let happen. And you were. Why were you doing this? Did you really want this as a punishment? Was the breaking news between Ivan and Alfred really worth this? You couldn't even hear yourself think about the answers to the questions that overwhelmed your brain. It wasn't until you slightly tilted your head up at Ivan to see him staring at you with impatience.

Sighing softly through your nose, you gazed back down at the bed. You were about to place yourself on the sheets when Ivan stopped you. "No." He said, causing you to look at him with a glare. "Under the sheets." He commanded with no sentiment in his tone. His face continued to hold irritability and his violet eyes kept theirs. Your expression sunk into more frustration and agitation. You brows sharpened as well as your (e/c) eyes. With your scowls pressing on one another, you gripped the corner of the sheets and yanked them back. You turned away from the Russian and laid yourself down on your side forcefully, dropping the blankets over you as you curled up.

This was something that you rarely did. Putting yourself under the covers. It was something that scared you. You had a constant fear that there would be someone who would come in the nights and try to harm you. It was funny though. Children and some adults would hear a bump or a creak in the night and they would hide or protect themselves with their blankets. But if you were to hear such noises, you would think that the blanket was the creature or person that was within your room, and it was holding you down, keeping you from moving. This was why you never slept with something to cover you, even in the cold. Though you didn't exactly know what it was that kept you from sleeping or causing you not to slumber with something draped over yourself, you believed it was either the fear of sleep or PTSD.

Now that physical war was over in Europe, doctors had done studies over men that had returned home from the battlefield and found that they would have memories and sudden flashbacks that would cause them to go silent. Not a good silence. Doctors called it post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. They would just stop talking or doing whatever activity they were doing and just stare. Sorrow would fill their faces and in some instances they would start crying or they would sit down and put their heads in their hands and rock back and forth. Some would scream when they would hear loud noises and immediately go hysterical and break down. This would even happen when they were dreaming. They'd wake up crying or screaming, yelling things only the average soldier would say in combat. Some wouldn't fall asleep due to the fear of being killed or shot in a ditch in their sleep from enemy troops and bombing raids. It's uncontrollable.

It was something you thought you had as well, but you never had these battlefield nightmares and you cried every few years or so, and if you had, it wasn't in a while. But there was a definite entity that kept you from sleeping and you were still trying to solve the troubling mystery. And you had the feeling it would never leave you. It would forever be a shadow to you, a phantom that feasted on you. It was a leech that could not be burned off.

Click. The mellow lamp light was switched off and darkness fell upon the smokey room. You could perceive Ivan getting into the bed with you, but he did not come near you. His entire body stayed on his side of the bed. In fact, the two of you were so far apart that there was a valley that formed between you. You could not feel any hands or movement coming towards you. Several minutes passed and there was still no activity coming out of the man. All that could be heard was the snowy wind outside that howled across town.

But you impatiently waited for Ivan to talk. If he didn't, then you would await the slumber to embrace him, leaving you to get out of bed and sit back in the armchair, away from liar. It wasn't until after midnight that Ivan spoke up.

"I sometimes wish that American didn't have so many allies." He mumbled, breaking the silence.

"Gee, I thought you were one of them." You replied coldly. Silence poured back into the room for a brief time and then it was broken again. "I'm going to have to allow you to visit with your brother every time I return to my home."

This made you drop your attitude. Your eyes widened in the dark and your head turned to look at the man who was still facing away from you. Hesitating, you turned your head away from him and retorted back to him. "Gilbert?" You asked, staggered by the words that left his mouth.

"Don't get too excited, Beilschmidt. And don't get any ideas." He interrupted, hissing with vex on the tip of his tongue. You couldn't believe what he was saying. The suspicion didn't leave you though. "This is a joke." You murmured to him, shaking your head lightly. There was a long pause. "I wish it was." He replied apathetically. He wasn't joking.

The statement definitely disgusted you, making your eyes narrow. But it did make you believe in what he said. "What does Alfred have to do with this?" You asked. Ivan chuckled with a snort in frustration. You could imagine him rolling his eyes in the dark. "NATO. That's what." He growled.

"NATO?" You said with an arrogant laugh. "What can those fools do against you?"

"Oh, take away everything I've worked for." He stated with anger in his voice. He was much more pissed off now. "I don't know if you've heard, milaya, but the yank and I are in a bit of a war right now."

"I know." You snapped with a sharp tongue. "But what did the American really say, huh? What made you put your tail between your legs?" You mocked, gritting your teeth. Ivan didn't reply. Trying not to tsk out of irritation, you refused to press on to him. He wasn't going to answer something that questioned his fear. If he wanted to hide the fact that he was a pussy under the American, so be it. Twice today, you were able to find the inner coward within Braginski.

But moments later, you felt a pair of hands grab your waist. Your heart shot up to your throat as the hands turned into arms. Ivan was wrapping his strong arm around you and pulling you towards him. It reminded you of the car ride to the train station. Quickly, you moved your arm back, attempting to elbow the Russian in the stomach or chest. But it was immediately caught in Ivan's hand. He removed one arm to catch the attack. He held it hard, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was just stiff and ungovernable no matter how you tried to move it.

You could feel your back come into contact with his chest and stomach. As you tried to move your legs, they were quickly overpowered with Ivan's legs, both of them interlocking with yours, holding them tight. The weight of the blankets were like nets on an animal. This made you shutter faintly. The combination of the sheets being over you and Ivan being in the bed with you terrified everything in your body. You couldn't move. It was like a child wrestling an adult.

You gasped with worry, struggling to get free of his stony embrace. Ivan then moved his head down to your ear. His long, hooked nose buried itself in your (h/l), (h/c) hair. "You're still not going unpunished, Nazi." He cooed immorally, resting his cheek on the side of your head. He was practically spooning your petite self. "Don't disobey."

Blood raced throughout your body. You could hear it in your head. It was so loud. There was thunder in your ears. It didn't stop. Why did you allow this? " _You deserve it._ " A little voice in your head said. _Go away!_ " _It's all your fault._ " _Away with you!_ " _Obey him._ " _Leave me, serpent!_

To your dismay, you felt your hand loosen its grip on his hold. Your arm had become less tense in Ivan's grip. One by one, the muscles in your body relaxed and lost their tension. Ivan even began to ease his control over you. It was the car ride all over again, but this time there was less internal spark, less heat, less fire. There was not much loathe for Ivan, but there was an inordinate hate for yourself. _You should not have let this happen. You should not have humiliated yourself and Ivan in front of everyone. You should be sorry for acting like such a savage in front of Ludwig. You aught to be ashamed of yourself._

Not once did your self-loathing brain mention the thoughts of the Soviet Union or Ivan's devilish plans to have complete, total control over you and Gilbert. It was all about you and your choices. Was this it? Was your spirit finally overruled? Well, not quite yet.

"America and NATO would drop an atomic bomb on Moscow if I didn't agree to their proposition. All thanks to your damn outburst at the meeting, Alfred questioned your mental health and now he wants you to be reunited with your precious Gilbert." Ivan growled, placing his head back onto the pillow. "Just thought your brat mind would like to know." He whispered like a snotty child.

Thirty minutes passed. You counted. As the time rolled over, so did your thoughts. Your pride was not gone, you decided. It was still their and it was still strong with you. You were actually smiling in the dark. Smiling. But it wasn't an entirely happy grin. Of course this was great news, that you would see Gilbert again. You would get to see him not only once, but several times a year. To be able to embrace your albino brother once again and to see those charming red eyes and the handsome simper of his made you want to cry happily. Even to picture him picking you up off the ground and twirling you around in his arms like you were a child again made your throat sore.

But something boiled in the pit of your stomach. How would he react when he saw you. This was, yet, another problem that was similar to the meeting with Ludwig at the meeting. Would something like that happen again?

In order to dodge the question that would drag in more flustering ideas, you shook it off. _Save it for another day._  You thought. _Let Ivan bitch._  But you wanted to be sure of something. It was an entirely different question and it was directed towards the man that was in the uneasy bed with you. You already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear it straight from the devil's mouth. It would be a reminder. A memento that could keep the fire stoked and hot.

"Do you hate me?" You asked indifferently with half-lidded eyes, pressing the question on the Russian that may have been already asleep. Ivan had a long strip of silence pass before he answered back with a confident, sleepy murmur. You almost thought he was talking in his sleep. "With everything that I possess."

"Good." You replied after a few moments, nodding lightly. And with that, you closed your eyes. You did not fall asleep, but neither did Ivan, for he was planning a sinister scheme.


	18. Secluded, But Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the 18th chapter! I'm pretty optimistic about 2017 and hopefully I'll be able to type chapters every week. Don't forget to leave kudos and comments of what you think! Thank you guys so much for the hits, kudos, comments, and support!

Soviet Controlled Berlin, East side 1:30 AM

"Sir, everyone is in place. The streets have been blocked off and we have cleared the area. Our men in (country name) are in position as well. All of the ports have been closed and the docks have patrols for escapees as well as the airports. The naval blockade around (country name) is complete. All ships will be shot out of the water or turned around. Officer Zhuravlev is on the telephone, on stand by, awaiting your orders."

"Are you sure that there is no one around?"

"Yes, sir. But our men are set to kill any witnesses and anyone who interferes with the blockades."

"Good."

"It's your call, Lieutenant."

Volkov hummed in acknowledgment, smiling illicitly. "Execute the plan now."

"Yes, sir. Commencing the order now." The Soviet officer then turned away from the Lieutenant and shouted to his men who were all lined up with shovels and other tools. Countless bricks and bags of cement were pilled in rows beside them. "BEGIN CONSTRUCTION!"

 

He entered the house broken, bloody, and unable, nothing more than a wounded hound that limped as it walked. His surroundings were a mystery, though he knew where he was. It was all unseen, but he was not lost. His eyes had not darted, nor gazed for several years before they had recovered. Actually, his red orbs missed the ability to roll in annoyance and glance in his sly arrogance, something that was classified as a characteristic that irritated the hell out of people. There was a rich and burning fire in his eyes, which had never left him. Yes, they were indeed charming and alluring. They had not changed one bit, even after being sliced open from the bitter war that left him in nothing but shambles.

The porcelain skin held many lighter scars, as if it were not possible. But they were much older and they never seemed to disappear. Many of the new ones were already fading and some that were taking a much longer time to vanish, which was very maddening to the albino. But it was most peculiar that he did not desire the company of the memorable blemishes. He had always taken the utmost pleasure and pride in showing off his scars, mostly to women who would giggle and blush in charm. Now, how he had received such a grotesque beating, no one but you and Ludwig knew.

Just hours after Berlin was invaded by the Soviets, Gilbert was bombarded with internal attacks, something that was more than common in countries under war times. His mouth lined with cherry liquid, the vomiting of blood. He could barely stand. The capital was already surrounded by the time you had gotten him to his feet. And not long after did a Slavic man kick down the door and fire at him, grazing his eyes with a bullet as he turned towards the broken-in door to the gigantic office. Luckily, the shot didn't go through his nose. How Gilbert screamed... It must have been a horrendous cry for you to hear, triggering a defense mechanism.

Gilbert knew this just by listening to the alleged attacker shriek out as he was shot by you. He had a haunch it was one of your most cruel finishes. He guessed it was your 'climbing spider' attack. This terrifying move of yours had its name for a reason. You would shoot the enemy in both feet, then both legs. And after waiting a few seconds for the attacker to feel and endure the stinging and burning pain, you would shoot him in the neck. But that time, you had shot him twice in that area, wasting the bullet on the already dead man. Gilbert could understand why. When a hunter goes after a cub, the mother is sure to unleash her wrath.

As well as the other cuts and bruises and the large gash on his side, they were received when he, Ludwig, and you were attempting to escape the capital building. It was most unfortunate that he and his siblings were caught as Ludwig opened a hidden exit only to reveal dozens of Soviet soldiers with guns already drawn at the door. With Gilbert's arm around Ludwig's shoulders, supporting him, you and your brothers tried to run back inside after slamming the door shut. Gilbert and Ludwig took the lead while you took out another magazine to reload your handgun. But not even the heavy wood could hold back the bullets...

You and Gilbert were grazed with metal and lead. Gilbert in the side, you in the chest as you turned your head and torso to look back at the exit, searching for a clear shot. Of course the round didn't stop you, but it caused you to hiss and shout mildly, sputtering out curses. As a normal reaction, you turned around fully to take aim at the door, returning fire and receiving shouts of agony from the other side. Amazingly, the iron rounds didn't stay in the flesh or create holes, never to actually enter the body. They simply cut through the skin like throwing knives.

Immediately, blood cried from Gilbert's side, but the red tears did not show up on his or your uniform. They were both black. This shot caused Gilbert to hiss and stumble to the wooden floor, crimson dripped onto the ground. Ludwig was almost brought down with his fallen brother, but he quickly scooped up Gilbert and carried him in his arms as you held off the enemy fire. The albino remembered Ludwig yelling towards you after he made it around the corner. They only stopped for a moment. "(Y/n)! Fall back! Gilbert can't stay here!"

"Don't talk like I'm not here, Lud!" Gilbert coughed out after spitting blood from his mouth, his crimson eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't open them. "Just get him out of here! Get back to the office! I have to get these bastards off of us!" You hollered back. "(Y/n), that's an orde-" Ludwig was interrupted as more bullets penetrated through the door, causing you to duck into a doorway and cover your face in the crook of your arm. "JUST GO!" You shrieked, glaring at the remote Ludwig from where he was standing with caution in your serious, (e/c) eyes.

Sprinting as he went, Ludwig raced back to the office after deciding that you would not obey his command. Placing Gilbert down on the expensive sofa, now ruining the pricey fabric, Ludwig unhooked his belt, slipped it out of the loops, and tossed it aside. He then ripped off his olive green coat and threw it over his brother. He began pressing the coat onto Gilbert's bloody side. He immediately hissed and snapped at Ludwig.

"Not so hard, dammit!" He growled, putting one, gloved hand over his wounded eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have to stop the bleeding." Ludwig responded, worry and panic was in his voice. His sky blue eyes were wide with a piercing and frantic fear. A few strands of his blond, slicked hair fell forward onto his forehead. The two of them could only hear the many boots outside and the ear piercing shots of guns from the hallway and the buildings and streets that surrounded the capital.

While all of this mayhem played out like a hellish nightmare, Gilbert could only think in regret. He was in his own little world. A disaster like this was never expected. It shouldn't have ever happened, especially to him and his blood. It was at this point that he was in the first stage of grief. Denial. He was not going to lose, not now. Not after all he had been through. He had made it too far to let the supposed surrender come crashing down on the Germanic descent. He dared not to let his father let him place his harsh eyes upon the albino nation, never to take pride in anything that he had accomplished. All because of one, severe failure.

What Gilbert wanted to prove that he was flawless, to never fail, to never quit, to never fall. And he felt that if he couldn't manifest that, there was no way the man who had given him life would allow him eternal paradise. This image that he made himself out to be was fading and it was all coming to a clear result. Gunshots. Bang! Bang! He regretted everything that worked him to this ending. He wanted to start over, trash everything that was reality. No more black and red. No more struggle. No more praise for a dictator that takes the easy way out.

"Fuck that bastard, Roderich!" Gilbert grunted, slamming his fist down onto the cushion of the couch. Thump. "Calm down, Gil. We're getting out of here." Ludwig reassured, not sounding too sure about the words that streamed out of his mouth.

"LUDWIG!" Ludwig snapped his head around, facing the opened hallway door that emitted the gun fire. You shouting at him from within your holding point. "GET OUT OF HERE! THEY'RE COMING!" You barked with alarm. He had the feeling that you were being overrun. You couldn't hold for much longer. If anything, you only had seconds before you ran out of ammo, allowing the Russians to storm through. It was then that you fell back, sprinting through the long hallway and back to the office, dodging the heavy machine gun fire that ripped up the walls above you.

You could feel a bullet zip past your ear, the air gently gliding its finger over the shell of your ear and the gentle strands of your hair. But it left a ear popping ring in your eardrums, causing it to go deaf and only pick up faded noise. Grunting, you covered your tolling ear with the same hand that you held your gun. Managing to get back to the office, you slammed the door shut behind you, quickly locking it. Knowing that the simple lock would never stand against getting kicked in, you spotted the bookshelf, which was luckily near the door. Rushing over to it, you pushed it forward, toppling it over, blocking the door.

But as soon as the shelf came crashing down, scattering its fluttering books, your good ear could pick up heavy boots on wood. Your (e/c) eyes widened in agitation and impatience. The Russians were in the hallway, heading to the door. If only you had more guns...

"Gil, Lud, we have to go." You said with distress and rush in your tone as you made your way over to your brothers. "They've broken through the exit."

Gilbert sighed and tsked. His throat was knotted and his chin quivered. He couldn't believe he was starting to cry, not out of pain, but out of fear. "West... I can't..." He coughed out as more blood trickled down his mouth, past his jaw, and down his neck in slow streaks. "I'm done..." He was wanting you to leave him, to escape without him. This was all madness in both yours and Ludwig's ears. But...it was true and logical that Gilbert would propose such a thing.

In this moment of a crisis, Gilbert was acting out of panic, fright, dismay. He dreaded one thing and one thing only. His younger siblings' capture. He could care less if he was shot paralyzed on the couch. All he desired you to do was to run. Run and never look back, never stop. To run to the edge of the world and be safe, away from the fate of persecution from a false blame, something that they were not responsible for. And Roderich didn't have to. He could walk away from the situation carefree, never having to look over his shoulder to know what he had caused.

"Shut up, Gil! We're not leaving you to the fucking Bolsheviks!" You scolded at the albino, stepping forward nearly shoving Ludwig out of the way. In a flash, Gilbert sat up, grabbing both the lapels to your uniform. His grip tugged you to his eye level, causing your to hunch over. The blood that oozed from your chest drizzled over his gloved hands and down his sleeves, onto the hidden, pale flesh.

Gilbert could remember the way you stared into his eyes. Your orbs were drowning in surprise and worry, taking in the detail of Gilbert's horrendous sight line. Blood gushed from his waterline and the whites of his eyes. His garnet irises barely stood out from the red that spread over them. It was a horrendous image that you had seen many times before, but never on one of your own. The furrow of your brows were shaped in an expression of grand unease. Actually fear wrapped its arms around you. Discomfort splashed into your stomach like acid and your muscles tensed, frozen in place. You couldn't move.

Gilbert paused before speaking, moving his hands from your lapels to your arms in a sign of affection. He held you with such sympathy. Though he could barely see you with the vision he had, he still looked into your eyes the best he could, making the moment dear. Pink tears now trickled down his pale cheeks.

"(Y/n)..." He smiled, his chin quivered. "You've...so much nobility." Gilbert's throat became tighter with every word he uttered. He chuckled dismally, almost like he was defeated. "It...reminds me..." Cough. "Of the man I used to be. And I want you to keep it that way."

You felt yourself tear up, unsure if it was because you were feeling the same sorrow as your brother or that you were not blinking. It was both. A weight was dropped upon your shoulders and head as Gilbert coughed out more words. "But..." Cough. "I'm not worth saving at this point." His hands squeezed around your arms tightly. He was going to let you go.

"Gil...I..." You trembled out, on the verge of letting tears fall from your glassy eyes. Gilbert gripped your arms tighter. Want seeped into his eyes. "Go now." He whispered with command in his throat.

Brotherly love. This was it. An undefinable care, a devotion for the ones dearest to him. From him to his brother. From him to his sister. An unbreakable bond that strives entirely off of attachment and intimacy. It does not show itself only in precious and dear moments, not like this. But always. It is here at this moment and it was there ever since. This act out of pure affinity was what kept you and Ludwig and Gilbert together. This spirit, this love, this need for the safety of each other. It was an undefinable care, a devotion for the ones dearest to one another. And it was always there, even at the most vicious moments.

Bang Bang...Bang...! Bang Bang...! Bang Bang Bang... Bang! Bang Bang Bang... Bang!

Gilbert furrowed his brows in confusion. "Huh... That wasn't right." He thought as the door buckled and shook from the pounding Russians. "They didn't...strike on the door that way..." The loud banging repeated again.

Bang Bang...Bang...! Bang Bang...! Bang Bang Bang... Bang! Bang Bang Bang... Bang!

"No. That's not right..." Gilbert whispered under his breath. You stared at him confused. "Gilbert, what's wrong?" You said in a motherly tone. _No... No._ This was all wrong in Gilbert's head. You sounded too calm, much too calm for the situation. The albino glanced at Ludwig who was now looking out the window with great caution, standing on the couch to elevate himself in order to peek at the war zone outside. The banging continued like the toll of a bell at midnight. Every time it struck, Gilbert's head would receive massive throbs in his brain. Pressure consumed his mind, his temples were pulsing at their worst. It hurt so much.

Bang Bang...Bang...! Bang Bang...! Bang Bang Bang... Bang! Bang Bang Bang... Bang!

BANG! POP! SHATTER! The windows that hung above the couch splintered open. Broken glass rained down on Gilbert as shots rang out from outside. "No. This didn't happen." Gilbert said aloud, seeing that you took no attention or reaction to the glass that showered down on you and him. His eyes actually widened to see that your face was carved with glass. Some shards sank into your cheeks and forehead. Gilbert, much to his internal horror, saw glass in your eyes which were now filling with blood. You didn't blink as the blood overflowed and drained out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

Gilbert furrowed his brows in even more surprise, disoriented by this unfamiliar detail to his memory. _No... This is all wrong..._ He snapped his head up to Ludwig who had not moved from the....broken window. The panes were completely blasted open. Only a few shards remained in the wooden frames. Ludwig continued to stare blankly out the window... Gilbert noticed a dark shadow on the back of Ludwig's head, a deep brown...no, a deep red color. Just barely, the albino could see that the back of Ludwig's head was disturbed as if an explosion had gone off against his head. The blond German slowly cocked his head down to Gilbert, who to much of his dismay, was frightened to his core at the nightmare in front of him.

Bang Bang...Bang...! Bang Bang...! Bang Bang Bang... Bang! Bang Bang Bang... Bang!

Ludwig had five bullet holes in his head, but Gilbert wasn't exactly sure how many there were with his damned eyes. Three were in his forehead, one was in his left cheek, and the last one was beneath his right eye, possibly shattering his cheekbone. As Ludwig turned his head towards his bewildered brother, gravity pulled the blood out of those deep, dark, crimson holes, creating numerous stripes and rivers down his face. Gilbert assumed the odd coloration on the back of Ludwig's head was blood caused by the bullets that had exited through the crown of his skull.

Eventually, as moments of banging and boisterous, Russian tongues blared the air, the rivers of red that streamed down Ludwig's face coated his eyelids and wept into his blue eyes. He just stared at him. Those haunting blue eyes gazed into Gilbert. Angel's eyes.

The blue eyes that silently screamed at him while they mixed in with Gilbert's red and gory orbs that bled profusely. How those colors changed so drastically within the time that they had. Not only that, but the expression on Ludwig's face... So...ugly...

As blood seeped into the angelic, blue eyes, the red liquid blended in with the cool, peaceful color. Churning it. Mingling together. The irises danced a wicked waltz like fire in the wind. Gilbert could feel his stomach knot. He was going to vomit. Those beautiful blue eyes that he had known all his life, those stern sapphires that looked up at him from a child's body when he was a much younger man were changing before him. He could perceive his damaged eyes tearing up from sorrow. Not pain. Sorrow and a helpful serving of dread.

Ludwig began to smile demonically, not a smile that Gilbert had ever seen before on his brother's lips. However, they were not unfamiliar to him at all. He knew this chaotic grin all too well. It was a sneer that he had seen countless times in the past. What made Gilbert's heart drop and shatter to the ground was the words that had left Ludwig's mouth. His tone was a whisper and it was his voice, but it was not appropriate for his stature. It was a child's murmur, like one that had been awoken from a nightmare and asked to sleep with the parent.

Bang Bang...Bang...! Bang Bang...! Bang Bang Bang... Bang! Bang Bang Bang... Bang!

"They're here." His tone was a whisper and it was his voice, but it was not appropriate for his age or his stature. It was a child's murmur, like one that had been awoken from a nightmare and asked to sleep with the parent. Ludwig's eyes were no longer blue. They were a deep, demented purple.

 

 

August 13th, 1961 2:13 AM

Gilbert sat up in bed with a jolt, shuttering as he tried to control his breathing. Surprisingly, he did not shout, nor did he scream. He was drenched in sweat. His hair was soaked with it, matting the silver stands to his forehead. Sweat gathered on the tip of his nose and dripped onto the sheets. Panting heavily through his mouth, he wiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his dark grey sweater. Even that stuck to his skin. Salt filled his nostrils, making his head whirl with unease.

It wasn't until he controlled his breathing did he remember where he was. He was still in Ivan's manor, in his room, asleep. Or so he thought he was until he began dreaming. Inhaling in deep, slow breaths, Gilbert ran his pale, bony fingers through his wet, silver hair. He could feel that his throat was dry and sore. But at the same time his throat was tight, because of the sickening images from his dream. Nightmare.

Though the room was pitch black as the world outside, he could tell that his vision was becoming blurred from his tears. Night terrors were not uncommon with Gilbert ever since he arrived in the manor. In fact, he would have more nightmares than he did dreams. Most of them would include incidents where Ivan would be several feet taller than him. The shadowy and chaotic Russian nation would pick Gilbert up like a wounded bird and slowly and ever so brutally rip his arms off. Ivan would stare down at this horror before him, smiling, eating up the entire moment with his violent eyes.

Gilbert didn't actually feel the actual pain of his limbs being torn off one by one, but he felt a cramped and antsy feeling in those sockets. Pins and needles was the closest feeling to what he experienced in his dreams, but there was this certain weight or pressure put on his lungs and his shoulders. It was almost suffocating. And it made him scream silently in his sleep. Quickly, he whipped away the tears in his eyes before they could fall.

However, he kept the nightmares to himself and he was very talented at hiding them after he got up in the morning, going into the kitchen for breakfast. Raivis was the first one to notice the dark circles around Gilbert's eyes, but he did not say anything about it, thinking that they were part of the albino's wounded areas that was taking longer to heal. Gilbert knew this, because he would catch Raivis, not staring at his every action, but straight into his red eyes, taking note of the darkened skin.

After a while, Toris happened to take notice of Gilbert's darkened eyes. When the Lithuanian confronted him, Gilbert laughed his zany laugh and joked at Toris. "What are you, Toris? My mother? It's from the fucking wounds, you idiot." But as the blackening of his eyes continued, Gilbert knew that convincing the Baltics that he was alright in the head was going to be more of a challenge with every passing day.

But this dream was so very different from the other hellish nightmares that he had encountered. This dream was a memory. A false memory. The dream was compatible to what actually happen on the day that Berlin was captured by the Soviets. The ending was the incorrect part and everything that worked up to it. The banging was most peculiar and did not happen. Gilbert could have sworn that he had heard a similar series of ruckus just like it, but he couldn't remember where or when he had picked it up.

Another thing. Ludwig never looked out the tall window of the office. He stood next to you the entire time with a gun he had yanked out of Adolf's desk, drawing it to the blocked door. He wasn't shot, not once. He only received a few scrapes and bruises, but not a single bullet. Definitely not to the head. Damage like that would leave him with brain trauma for months, years even.

You were tending to Gilbert though. That part of the dream was correct, and you were trying to hurry him, encouraging him to get up and leave the capital. But what was false was that you questioned him. You never asked Gilbert what was wrong, especially not in such a tone that would leave him baffled. Nothing about the words that left your mouth with such strange ease was right in Gilbert's head. It did not sound right on your lips. Glass never entered your (e/c) eyes, nor did any scratches scratch your face. It was left untouched. Yet, in this terror of a dream, your face was littered with glass and cuts, ruining your complexion. Red stained skin.

But what brought Gilbert so much distortion, what really made his entire nightmare come to a crashing and distressing climax was Ludwig's eyes. They were purple. Purple.

Once they had morphed into that sickening shade, Gilbert couldn't help but ponder that he wasn't talking to Ludwig. There was a grotesque feeling in his head and chest. Ludwig could never have such a revolting expression on his face. And the tone in his voice...it just wasn't him. _"They're here."_ It sounded like a threat. It was a threat. But not from Ludwig. Gilbert felt like it was Ivan who was staring down at him, just like how he did in the dreams that Gilbert had known too well. It made his stomach cringe and twist in agony. It actually was.

Gilbert took all of his time to think about his nightmare only to realize and acknowledge the fact that there was a peculiar taste in his mouth. Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he tasted a metallic tang. He furrowed his brows in confusion at the strange after taste. He began thinking that it was probably aftertaste from dinner. But as his brain continued to wake up, he recognized that his stomach felt sharp and heavy. And only seconds later did Gilbert feel his entire core and chest cramp up, painfully. But before he could react, blood vomited from his mouth in one large gush.

Immediately, he slapped a hand to his mouth, but it was too late. The blood had already splattered onto the sheets, coming into contact with the light fabric. It was forever stained now. Gilbert's garnet eyes widened in surprise and great pain. His stomach and chest continued to cramp up and ache like he had swallowed huge shards of glass. An unbearable fire was billowing in his lungs. Blood seeped through his fingers persistently as it overwhelmed his mouth with its salty taste and thick consistency. It only increased his urge to vomit again.

Furrowing his brows and squeezing his eyes shut, he began to choke on the disgusting liquid that arose from his stomach. He coughed, but it backfired on him. He only vomited more blood through the grates of his fingers. That only sent him into a coughing fit. Hunching over in his sitting position, he began to empty everything that was inside him. Blood. Undigested food. Saliva. Everything.

It wasn't until there was a drenching and dark puddle of blood in his lap did Gilbert rip the covers off of him and stumble out of bed. Cupping his mouth with both of his hands, he tried to control his violent ralph. He then staggered out of his room and into the hallway in search of the bathroom. But he couldn't stop coughing or choking. Blood did not stop draining from his throat and mouth. He was a faucet of gore. There was a trail of red on the wooden floors of the hallways, not to mention the occasional bloody, hand prints on the walls.

Finally, he found the bathroom and rushed to it, opening the door, and closing it shut behind him. He didn't have time to flip on the lights. Instantly, he went to the sink and gripped the porcelain bowl tightly. The blood on his hands made his hold slippery. Pain continued to shoot straight up through his core. His throat was on fire and his head was blurred, a void of dizziness consumed him. Putting his head over the bowl of the sink, he resumed his coughing, desperate to get whatever virus he had out of him. But he knew quite well that this was no virus. If it were some sickness, like a fever or a stomach flu, he would not have blood in his vomit.

The upchucking of blood meant one thing and one thing only. Something was happening in east Germany. Something big. Before, he would have occasional coughing fits where he would emit blood from his organs, but it wasn't serious. This internal bleeding was caused by the communism that was launched by the Soviets about a decade ago when he had enough strength to take on such a government. But this...this was atrocious. He wasn't choking up just a mouthful of gore, but pints. Pints.

Minutes passed and the hacking didn't cease. Gilbert now had tears streaming from his eyes from the immense hawking. He almost couldn't breath because of the continuous vomiting. But when he could get a few inhales of air from his mouth, he could hear himself wheeze like he was about to cough up a lung. Then, he tried breathing through his nose, but he quickly stopped and hacked again. There was blood draining out of his nose, flowing down his upper lip, and to his chin, dripping into the sink.

Tap, tap. Gilbert jolted at the gentle sound. There was a knock at the door. He only glanced for a minute before he felt his stomach shoot up more liquid. He choked again. "Hello?" A voice said. It was Eduard. "Gilbert, is that you?"

Gilbert heaved as if to throw up once again, but nothing came out. Instead, he spat out what he had in his mouth. "Don't...come in..." He wheezed with a gruesome and exhorting growl. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, not now.

"Are you alright?" Eduard sounded much more urgent now. There was a long pause before he began to talk again. Just barely Gilbert could hear the Estonian whisper under his breath. "Oh my God..." Gilbert guessed that he had noticed the trail of blood that was beneath his feet and on the doorknob. "Gilbert, let me in!"

"Don't!" Gilbert gritted his teeth before he exploded into another fit of chokes and coughs. Eduard gripped the knob of the door and ripped it open. After taking note that the lights were off in the bathroom, he felt for the light switch. He found it and turn it. He shaded his eyes and adjusted them to the light only to reveal one of the most brutal bloodshed he had ever witnessed.

The sink was three fourths of the way full with dark, black-red liquid. There was even a puddle forming at Gilbert's bare feet, pooling on the white, tile floor. The albino was still hunched over the sink with his hands holding onto the rim. Eduard could see red hand prints beneath Gilbert's palms. There was blood all over his grey sleeves. It looked like black ink on the woolly fabric. Eduard's eyes widened much to his dismay of what he could see of Gilbert's face.

The albino's eyes were bloodshot, the whites of his eyes were pinkish red and irritated. His white, silver hair was darken from the sweat and was stuck to his forehead. His skin looked incredibly damp and clammy like he had drenched himself in water, not to mention how pale his complexion was now. He was losing blood at an alarming rate. Blood lined his mouth and spewed over his lower lip and chin. The same crimson liquid was surging out slowly from his nostrils to join with the larger river of blood on his chin.

 _What's happening..._ Cough. _To me..?_ Cough. Cough. Cough. Gilbert didn't even have the capability to speak a full sentence without bursting into a barking mess. Eduard just stood there unable to speak or react. Just standing there with his jaw dropped and eyes wide through his glasses with his pulse racing at a rapid speed. His brain was not functioning at all. It was just thinking about one thing. Ivan wasn't kidding.

Gilbert picked his head up from the sink, ripping his eyes away from the red ocean that he created in the sink only to lift his stare to another heinous sight. This indelible and detestable image was in the mirror. His face.

His skin was paler than normal like that of a ghost, most likely from the massive blood loss. The skin around his eyes was dark, almost like yours the last time he had seen you. He noticed the whites of his eyes were as red as his irises. He couldn't count how many tiny veins he had spotted in them. They made up the white surface of his eyes, consuming them, controlling them with an unhealthy scarlet. Then, it all came down to his mouth. It was a crimson cave. Nothing but blood came out. Even as he paused to look up at himself in the mirror, blood fell from the space between his lips. He watched as it trickled down his chin, out of his nose. His teeth were coated with red, they were completely stained.

Gilbert's eye twitched as the pressure in his head became more and more unbearable. His mind spun as his sense of surroundings turned into an illusive blur. His vision was fuzzing up. The lack of blood in his body was extremely dangerous even though he still had the sturdiness of a country. But over the years, his reproduction of his internal fluids was becoming much more nonreactive. Just a second later, he felt his grip on the sink's rim go numb. He couldn't feel anything, especially when his sight went dark after he fainted and hit his head on the cold, hard, tile floor. _God must be punishing me..._ He thought as the pain finally left him to his sleep.

 

August 13th, 1961 Moscow, The Kremlin 7:20 AM

Ivan slipped on his boots with great ease as he sat on the edge of his bed. Light streamed through the window as the morning crept over the horizon. The wind outside was gentle, almost still. But though there was no blistering breezes in the air, it was chilly as usual. Chilly enough for a light coat and a roaring fire in every home in the city. But it wasn't cold enough, not for Ivan. He was hoping that the day would be much more icy. He wished it were freezing out.

He knew that today was going to be busy. All of the heat would bring him such a headache and usually the cold would bring him some relief to his mind. Strangely, it would clear his head with its cool hand, straightening everything out. But it wasn't here today, on the day that he would be needing it the most. He knew that Alfred would call today, especially after what happened last night. Ivan wasn't looking forward to taking aspirins after the day is over. Actually, he would have to take the pain relievers for the rest of the month, because NATO would most likely blabber about the incident for several weeks until they found a new topic to pay attention to.

However, Ivan felt prepared to take the day and the weeks to come under his wing and hit it head on. He wanted to show just how much power he had over nations. And you, as a 'weapon country', were one of the most important and vital keys to his pact. And now that he had you isolated and completely under his rule, there was nothing in his own possession standing in his way.

Ivan could not believe that he actually executed his plan, the one that he had planned for so long. He had made his idea a living achievement, one that will create a crucial chapter in history books. A physical marker that told the world that the Soviets had power. Actual power. But he only conducted the plan on this day just to get Alfred and NATO off his back. He couldn't stand the constant bitching and persistent telephone calls from the American, whom was ceaselessly probing the Russian with the same question. "Did you reunited them?"

The question always made Ivan twitch with such irritability. And he would always respond with the same answer. "Soon." Ivan would occasionally remind Alfred that he was given five years to reunite you with Gilbert, but he felt that he had to do it after he carried out his project. After all, the Russian did promise to Stalin that he would be patient and strike the GDR when they least expected it. He made the same pledge to Khrushchev when he first came into power. But Ivan had to make a few minor changes to his sadistic procedure. That included you.

Overnight, the Soviet army had built the wall around the East German border. It stood several feet higher than any human being. There were watch towers constructed as well with Soviet officials to oversee the stretch of land between the barbed wire and the actual wall. That stretch of land was no man's land. Get anywhere near it, man, woman, or child, and you were dead. This wall went on for miles. Trucks were to patrol it constantly and K9 units were to scan the area. In some places, a wire fence was put up for geographical regions and resource reasons. But these areas were guarded, too. If not, more heavily. These fences had trip wires and dozens of alarms around them. No one would be able to get over them in time in order to escape the patrolling soldiers and the jaws of the hounds.

You, on the other hand, may have gotten worse than your brother. Your entire country was isolated. Yes. An eighteen foot wall was placed around the entire perimeter of your island of a nation. The ports and docks in your country were deserted this morning. Sailors and captains and fishermen couldn't possibly get to their jobs until they were assigned special measures from Moscow which would allow them to do their given duty. But even then they could not escape, because they would have Soviet soldiers on their boats, surveying them with guns in their arms.

A naval blockade would be paroling the island until the reunification day was here. All unauthorized ships and planes would be prone to the threat of torpedoes and machine gun fire if they did not turn around in time. No one could leave and no one could enter unless they had permission or they were under Soviet authorization. All communications by radio and telephone were controlled entirely by the Soviet rule. That wasn't even the worst part on your account. You were unaware of a wall around your own country. It was completely oblivious to your knowledge. Everything was under Ivan's power now, free for him and his officials to dictate. Gilbert was his. You were his.

Lifting his head up after he finished adjusting the fit of his boots and the scarf around his neck, Ivan sat up and approached his nightstand where his hat and his gloves rested. He slipped on the leather gloves and clenched his hands, making sure they were snug. Picking up his hat with great care, he placed it on his head. His beige hair just barely reached his brows. Earlier that week, he had accidentally cut his bangs a little too short and it bothered him somewhat. But he could honestly care less since the Soviet hat covered most of his hair.

Ready to start the day, he headed towards the door. But as he entered the hallway, he couldn't help but look down the hallway at your door. He knew that you were awake. You always were. Ivan smiled smugly as he thought. The wall around your country would bring you physical depression and possibly internal problems, but he presumed that it wouldn't be enough to keep you from training and walking around without pain. You were sturdy enough to take a good beating.

As usual, Ivan felt that it was right to get you up for the day, which he always had the joy of doing everyday. Quietly striding down the hallway to your room, Ivan tried to contain his feeling of superiority and cockiness. But he allowed himself some self-satisfaction to shine through. He then reached your door and knocked. "Beilschmidt." He simply and tenderly called.

No answer. As expected. "Milaya, are you up?" He then said in a sing-song voice, leering downwards as if he were talking to you face to face. Again, no answer.

Straightening himself, Ivan gripped the doorknob, twisting it. Surprisingly, it was left unlocked. This was most odd to the Russian, but he continued with what he was doing. He figured that after an overnight operation like that, you would lock the door to hide your physical condition from him. But it seems that you didn't. Hesitating at first, Ivan opened the door and gazed inside, standing in the doorway. He then opened up the entire door until it touched the adjoining wall. His violet eyes scanned the room. You weren't there.

Ivan furrowed his brows with slight perplexity. This could have been a trap. You could be waiting for the Russian to enter the room and attack him while you were out of his sights. It wasn't something that had been done before, but it was a possible and logical explanation. If he could think it, you could think it. He had to be on high alert when entering your room or he would walk straight into your snare.

His eyes darted to the bathroom door. It was open and the lights were off. You had to have been hiding in there. Ivan began to smile again and he took a few confident steps into the room. But he stopped in place. Something wasn't right. The last step that he took was a bit off. It didn't sound normal. He had stepped in something. A liquid. He looked down. Blood.

A puddle of thick, half-dried blood was on the floor. The Russian could see that it was part of a trail to the bathroom. Ivan took his boot out of it and growled with irritation. "Beilschmidt, I sure hope you're proud of yourself now. You not only ruined the floor, but you also tarnished the bottom of my boot." He said sweetly with a hint of force in his words. He was annoyed and angry now. He walked around the large puddle of red and continued to follow the trail to the bathroom.

Ivan stood in the doorway of the bathroom. It was dark on the inside and he couldn't tell what was lurking in the shadows of the shady room. Ivan flipped on the light switch. It was a bloodbath. The air reeked of the metallic and acidic smell of blood. Ivan had to cover his mouth with his scarf to keep out the revolting smell. Red marks and hand prints were all over the sink, on the tile floor, on the bath tub, in the bath tub, and on the toilet. Ivan could peer over just enough to see that the water in the toilet was not just diluted with a small amount of blood, but it was nearly the same thickness and consistency. If anything, there had to have been more blood in the toilet than water.

Ivan's eyes scanned every corner of the bathroom. There weren't any nooks or crannies for you to stash yourself in. You simply were not there. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he flicked off the lights and left the bathroom. Had you left early that morning to the training field? Ivan shook that question out of his mind. That couldn't have been right. It was very unlikely of you to do that. Exposing yourself in such a state would bring too much attention to the officials and trainees. It would also bring you too much embarrassment.

Then, another question popped into Ivan's head and this one made him internally panic. Had you runaway...? It was possible, but you wouldn't get far, not with the alleged condition that you were in right now. But the problem was that Ivan had no idea how bad your health was right now. Anyone could have seen you. Someone should know something. Ivan needed information and fast.

Fearing the worst, Ivan turned to the door, but suddenly stopped himself. He look at your bed. No one was in it, but there was blood on it. Large patterns and streaks of blood. The stains were in a shape of direction that led to the edge of the bed. Ivan stared at the direction of the streaks for the longest time before he came to a conclusion. You must have pushed yourself out of the bed. He then looked at the floor by your bed and noticed more blood, which was shaped in an outline of impact. Quickly, his eyes spotted something else, something that puzzled him. There was an edge of a crimson puddle escaping from under the bed. Ivan's brows furrowed in confusion. _Why would there be blood under the-_

He found you. You were under the bed. Cautiously, Ivan walked to one of the corners of your bed. A soft smile was placed upon his lips as he took hold of that corner. He spoke ever so tenderly as he could as he started to push the bed aside. "Come on, Milaya. You have to get up for the day. We shouldn't keep the men waiting, now would we-"

He had to stop his childish and cruel taunt when he saw the image that laid on the floor before him. It was what he always wanted to see. It's what he dreamed of seeing. And he wasn't sure if he was ready to see it. You were laying in a pool of your own blood, on your side in fetal position with your limbs sprawled out. Your (e/c) eyes were open, but just barely. From what Ivan could see, the whites of your eyes were red, bloodshot. The dark circles around your eyes were a sickly purple-black. You really looked like you had been punched in both eyes.

The tips of your hair were matted with blood, some of the ends were stuck together. Your (s/c) skin was so much lighter than before. The blood loss was the main factor to that. Your clothes were covered in the internal, red liquid. The entire arms of your sleeves looked like they had been dipped in crimson. Half of your side was still soaking itself in the gory puddle in which you laid in. But your other half was just smeared and there was one, whole hand print on the stomach area of your dark green sweater.

There were no visible traces of blood on your dark, fitting pants, but there was bound to be some within the black fabric. There was a good amount of coated blood on the bottoms of your socks. Ivan noticed something most surprising to your overall form. Your clothes were much looser. You had shrunk nearly two sizes out of your pants from what he could see on your legs. The already over-sized sweater that you wore was even larger on you. He could only imagine how skinny you looked underneath your clothes.

Ivan's eyes then drifted back to your face. The description of it almost made him stumble back in his mind out of disbelief. Your brows were not at all furrowed in a form of anger or pain, but that of defeat. Your mouth and chin were covered with dried and wet blood. Your lips were parted just enough for Ivan to see your crimson stained teeth. Some red liquid still trickled from your mouth and nostrils, but it was extremely slow. The side of your head that was to the floor was drenched in red puddle, but the other was just smeared and dotted with the liquid. Your eyes did not blink or twitch to look up at the Russian. They just stared blankly at nothing. You looked dead.

You weren't. Ivan could see that you were breathing, but only slightly if he stood still enough. And when he listened hard, he could hear faint wheezing noises coming from within your lungs. Your breathes were shallow and slow like you were afraid to breath too hard or inhale too much. That it would physically hurt you.

This was the day that he had been waiting for. The day that you would finally feel his pain, the pain that his people in Stalingrad had endured. This was it. You were hit with the wrath that had silenced the lives lost in that city, ending their every breathes, taking away their light. Ivan wanted this to be an unpleasant reminder to you, an everlasting marker on your memory. One that would haunt your rare dreams and crash into your every nightmare. You had been served and you were his.

But Ivan couldn't smile at this. He couldn't smile at the person that was pathetically curled up on the floor below him. He couldn't take in the moment with ravenous and sadistic pleasure. He couldn't chuckle and mock you with the words that he rehearsed in his head for so many weeks. Instead of a leering and predator-like smirk, his lips were kept at a stern line. It was as if he were taken aback at what he so desired for so long. He didn't feel that this was a mistake, but he thought it was something else.

That this was too much of what he wanted. It was. Something just wasn't right about what he saw. He couldn't help but see this person lying beneath him as one of the victims of Stalingrad. A child ripped open by a spray of machine gun fire. A woman with her chest blown open from a bazooka rocket. There was this entity in the back of his head that poked at him. Gilbert kneeling in the murky and muddy streets of Berlin with his entire bleeding, blind, and broken physique.

You were still practically just a kid, though you were almost 81 years old in country age. But Ivan was so much older than you. Hundreds of years older. You were still just in your early twenties and it seemed like you would stay that way for the rest of time. But he had never had this much brutality placed upon him, not like this. Not even Raivis, whom Ivan would take the time to smack around and create red marks to the Latvian's cheeks, had ever encountered such a grotesque beating.

He hated the next feeling that simmered into his mind as he furrowed his brows in a mixture of forced anger and hidden concern. He felt pity as he continued to stare down at your forlorn self. He was going to make himself late for this. Ivan hated you, but he still needed you and leaving you here like this for weeks was a bad idea.

Ivan left your room, walking quickly into the hallway and back to his room. "I got fucking dressed for nothing." He pouted under his breath. He approached his nightstand, which was where he kept his telephone. He pick up the head piece and put it up to his ear and mouth, and then he put in numbers for the circular dial face. The dial tone rang with its static background until he heard someone pick up on the other side.

"Hello?" A voice said on the other end. "Orlov, it's Ivan." Ivan said briskly to his task manager, putting the head piece between his shoulder and his head. He was taking off his gloves.

"Yes, sir." Orlov responded, waiting for Ivan's orders. "Tell the training officials to have the men take the day off today. (Y/n) Beilschmidt has direct orders until further notice. Also, I'm going to need you to cancel all my appointments and meetings with the officials."

There was a hesitant pause with Orlov before he spoke. "Are you sure, sir? We have cases and paperwork that are most crucial to the...well...you know. The two incidents that happened last night."

Ivan tsked with irritation. He proceeded to take off his hat and set it down on the nightstand. "I know, Orlov." Ivan grunted in an impatient tone. His hands were now free, allowing him to hold the head piece in his hand. "Just have Khrushchev handle it. I'm not the goddamn political leader here. He can handle the heat for one day."

"But, sir," Orlov began with his prodding, "This wasn't at all planned. You're going to throw out everything that was organized for weeks just for a day off? I mean Volkov called to speak with you today. What am I supposed to say to h-" He was immediately interrupted by Ivan's booming and violent shout.

"I know, you little cunt! I know!" Ivan was just a moment away from slamming his fist down on the nightstand. His brows were furrowed into an aggressive and pissed shape. The purple in his eyes became much darker with his heated outburst. Ivan did not want to deal with any nagging today. Orlov was silent.

"Look, I have to deal with something today that can't wait. Tell Volkov that he'll have to be patient with me. I'll call him when I fucking feel like it." Ivan snapped lowly, glaring ahead.

Orlov was still silent, but after sighing, he replied. "Yes, sir."

"And Orlov?" Ivan started, relaxing his expression, trying to push the words out of his mouth. "Get Smirnov up to my room with his equipment while you're at it. Tell him it's urgent. And get a maid up to Beilschmidt's room. Tell her to bring bleach."

"Yes, sir." And Orlov hung up without any questions asked.

Ivan placed the head piece back onto the phone-rest. He unbuckled the belt around his uniform and took it off, placing it down on the arm chair in the room. He began to take off the upper section of his uniform, which was just his decorative, green coat and his black tie. He kept his white dress shirt on as well as his pants, boots, and scarf. He didn't mind getting them ruined, but it still made him quite angry that he would be tarnishing part of his uniform for your sake.

Hurriedly, Ivan walked over to one of his dressers and searched through them. Finally, he took out a thick blanket that was already tainted with wear. Quickly unfolding it, he strode back over to his bed and spread the blanket over half of the mattress, from headboard to the edge. He wasn't going to ruin his sheets for this. He wanted to save them.

Not wasting any time, Ivan walked back into the hallway and to your room. You hadn't moved at all. Not even your (e/c), bloodshot eyes had moved out of place. You really did look dead.

He began to approach you, slowly. Ivan still had to be careful with this delicate circumstance. You could be faking the entire situation and strike him at any point in time if he wasn't cautious. He walked around you and carefully crouched down next to you. Ready to get the crimson substance on his hands and clothes, Ivan scooped his arms under your side and legs. He stood up, picking you up off the floor. You were utterly limp in his arms and unresponsive, not to mention how alarmingly light you were. Ivan was afraid that you had lost too much blood over the course of one night.

He could feel his shirt becoming wet as the blood seeped into the white fabric. Ignoring his ruined uniform, Ivan turned and left your room with you in his arms. The Russian looked down at you for just a moment as he walked down the hallway towards his room. You were nonreactive and your head was lethargic, unable to face him. But this allowed him to uncover something that he did not notice when he found you. Your hair was pushed out of the way of your ear. Apparently, there was a sliver of blood oozing from your ear and streaming down your jawline. Ivan presumed that now there was a possible chance that you were unable to hear. He thought that maybe that was why you were so unresponsive. But, then again, you would still have the ability to feel him touching you.

He entered his room and kicked the door closed behind him with his foot. He made his way to the covered portion of his bed and set you down gently, removing his arms from under you. After taking a step back, he caught a slight stir from your head. It was maybe the most weakest movement he saw to ever come out of you. It was a motion out of an unfixable and faint discomfort, like a child being stirred in its sleep from a pestering parent.

He had to stare at this. He couldn't stop his eyes from lazily gazing at you. You looked so damaged and demoralized. This is what he pictured you would look like if you were actually defeated and conquered in battle, but that wasn't the cause at all. All of this was done by total isolation. You were completely unseen to the world, to now be entirely dependent on the man that took you from it.

After all of the men that he had thrown at you, all of the drafting in order to capture (country name), the millions of soldiers that were sacrificed to defeat your brothers. All he needed were the walls. It didn't even take an entire day to end it all. Such a waste. It was all he needed. Not bloodshed and mass drafts. Millions of men had no effect, but simply just brick, cement, and surprise. It was so easy. All the lives, now just a meaningless misuse that held no purpose or effective progressiveness to stop you or Gilbert or Ludwig.

He could have used a Trojan horse for all he knew. He could have smuggled soldiers into your country from under your nose just to cut off your specialists from their escape routes and ways of communication. But Ivan was so blind at the time, so arrogant to see past the fog of his own ego to realize this simple solution. He felt that any first grader could understand such a concept. He could feel his face becoming hotter as his pulse started to boil with self loath. This was something that slowly and silently infuriated Ivan and he couldn't keep himself from hating himself for it, but of course he wasn't going to let anyone find out about this calculation. It would be an embarrassing event for the Americans or anyone to release such information.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three brisk knocks snatched Ivan from his pondering, partially ending his aggravation, but the rage was still present. His eyes snapped to his door. It had to be Smirnov. Ivan was so deep into his thoughts that he had lost track of time. Fifteen to twenty minutes had to have passed. There was no other way that the doctor would get here in less than the time it took Ivan to remove his uniform and move you to his room.

Taking one last glance at you, Ivan walked to the door and opened it. He really did allow time to slip away from him. Smirnov was much older now, having aged sixteen years. His brown hair had a few strands of silver and his face was much more mature looking. His height hadn't changed, but he was a few inches shorter than the Russian that was in front of him He carried a black bag with him, which was being held carelessly in one of his hands. Smirnov looked up at Ivan and then immediately took notice of the blood on his shirt and arms. His small eyes went wide with concern and worry.

"J-Jesus Christ, Ivan, what happened to you?" Smirnov stuttered in a whisper. Clenching his jaw, Ivan rolled his violet eyes in irritation and furrowed his brows angrily.

"Not me, you idiot. Her." Ivan growled, stepping aside and pointing to where you lay. Smirnov followed the direction of Russian's finger and saw you. Thinking that this was just another small operation for him to perform on you, Smirnov tsked.

"Again?" The now nettled doctor sighed through his nose and mouth. He furrowed his brows with disbelief and his eyes glared back at Ivan. His words were much louder...and whinier. "Remember what happened the last time I had to deal with this cutthroat Nazi? I could have been killed-?"

Smirnov was cut off by a hand to his neck. Ivan tightened the masculine and savage grip on the doctor's throat, but stopped when he heard the man choke out a shudder as he was slammed into the frame of the door, nearly dropping his medical equipment. Smirnov's eyes were even wider than before and his free hand went to Ivan's arm.

Having caught the doctor's attention, Ivan smiled with a brutal wrath. His eyes stared straight into Smirnov's, almost burning two holes into his eye sockets. The man cowered under Ivan, fret spread all over his face as the Russian nation got closer. Ivan gritted his teeth like a deranged hound. "The only thing that will kill you will be me, doctor. I'm running out of patience. So, how about you just stop wasting my fucking time and take a look at her so you can be on your merrily way."

Ivan could feel Smirnov's pulse in his grip. It was fast and pressured underneath his iron fingers. The doctor's eyes were entirely composed of fear and dread. The cowardice man was no match for Ivan's strength and viciousness. He had to act fast and reassure the insane nation.

Smirnov swallowed and choked out a reply. "Consider it done, Mr. Braginski." Ivan quickly released the doctor, allowing him to breath and take in air through his suffocating lungs. Coughing, the doctor's hand went to his neck to ease the strangled area. There would be bruising there. The Russian country held his purple glare on the man as he entered the room.

"How...bad is her condition?" Smirnov breathed, trying to get his respiring under control as he walked over to the bed. He was looking over his shoulder at Ivan, not wishing to actually get a glimpse of you. Ivan narrowed his eyes at him. "I wouldn't know. That's why I called you up here, Smirnov."

"Where on her body did the bleeding occur from?" The ignorant doctor asked. "Internally." Ivan said in a low tone as he walked into the room as well, but stopped next to the chair that held his uniform. He took notice of how the doctor didn't want to look at you. Such a fucking mouse.

"Internally?" Smirnov furrowed his brows in disbelief and confusion as if it were a joke. "Mr. Braginski, if it were internal bleeding, the blood would stay on the inside of the body. There would be not way that the bodily fluids could exit the-" The doctor stopped talking once he got to your side of the bed and looked down at his patient. "So...i-it's true..." His eyes took the image in. Ivan sighed silently and looked down at his hands and arms, turning them over to see how bad the stains were on his skin and his sleeves. Incredibly, the blood had already dried.

A few minutes passed until Smirnov stopped his visual examination. He walked over to his medical bag and looked up at Ivan before he took any equipment out. "Um...Mr. Braginski? I'll have to ask to perform treatment in this room. It will be very crucial not to move her from this spot. If that is okay with you, sir."

Ivan internally slapped himself. _I shouldn't have fucking moved her. Now my room will be a crime scene._ He mutter at himself in his head. _So much for cancelling my day._ Ivan turned on his heal and ran a hand through his messy, beige hair. "Yeah, whatever. Just do what you can." Ivan hissed through his teeth, trying not to let his anger overflow.

He turned back around to face the doctor, who was still staring at him like he had more to say. "What?" Ivan snapped, causing Smirnov to jolt a little. He hesitated before speaking. "I'm...going to have to ask you to leave. This is going to take a while."

Ivan started to furrow his brows and glare even further, but he quickly swept it away with a disturbingly calm smile and bright, relieved, purple eyes. "That's quite alright." Ivan murmured, walking over to his nightstand. He opened the top drawer and took out a small box no larger than his hand. He closed the drawer softly and proceeded to the door. "I needed a break anyways." He mumbled loud enough for Smirnov to hear. And he closed the door behind him.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Ivan kept his face close to the door, not letting go of the doorknob. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and to the hallway. "Good morning, Mr. Braginski." Said an old woman's voice. It was the maid. "You're pretty late out of bed today." She said with a tender hum in her tone, like a soft breeze on a lazy afternoon.

Ivan listened as the aged, husky, and strong-built woman pass him and proceed to your room with her products in her hands. Letting go of the doorknob, Ivan pulled out a cigarette from his box and searched for the lighter in his pocket. He took it out and flicked on the flame, bringing it up to the tip of the cigarette. Once he had it going, he put the lighter back into his pocket. He breathed it in steadily and exhaled slowly, enjoying the smokey escape while ignoring the maid's shrill shriek of horror after she walked into your room.

 

 

Later that day 6:23 PM

The hallway reeked of cigarette smoke and tobacco as the hours passed. The day had gotten much warmer outside and then, as the hours passed, the clouds disappeared one by one. But Ivan couldn't see the entire sky from the windows at both ends of the hallway. However, he knew that the sun had to have been below the horizon of the darkening ocean of sky. He had gone through his entire box of smokes and was working on his last one. He was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the frame of the door.

Endlessly, Ivan pondered in the time that he had. It was in his passion to get back at you once you were back in good condition. But it seemed that every time he did a number on you, karma swung back at him and got the better of him. It was a never ending cycle, you and him. No matter what, you both had the same amount of misfortune. But there was something different about today, something that Ivan thought was odd and peculiar about himself.

He could have left you in your room to be treated. It was a logical possibility and anyone could have told him otherwise of the solution. But he didn't. He put you in his room, in his bed, his clean bed. And he thought nothing of it until he exited his room. Hell, he had even cancelled his plans for the day just so that he could get the results of your health. He knew that he could use the waiting time to get some paperwork done in his office. But he didn't.

He couldn't keep his head straight. All he could think about is why. Why did he take the day off to get you situated when he could have left you in your room and made a phone call to have Smirnov deal with you there? Why did he go through the trouble to do these things? And how did he not think before he acted? He took another breath from his cigarette. Was it that the time was going by so fast?

He thought it was funny. Not funny as in haha funny. Not at all. It was strange that he would act like this all of the sudden. Was it that he had too much respect for your snarky and silently spirited apathy? Did your condition give him a bad memory, bringing him guilt and the need to fix the problem? Did he fear that if you didn't get the help right away, the army would slack off and crash straight into failure? He didn't know.

However, he still knew one thing and it never left his mind. He hated you, and now for another reason. One that he could add to the list. He hated that you wasted his time, that you couldn't put up with your own country's depression and keep it to yourself. That you couldn't muster up the strength to push past the suffering. He would never have concern for you. Ivan hysterically laughed internally at the thought. But he painfully knew that this was his own fault, his own doing. And if anyone was wasting his time today, it was himself. He had the time and he was killing it.

Once again, Ivan was ripped from his thoughts as the door to his room opened. He stood up easily and put the finished cigarette into the box with the rest of the used ones. He turned to Smirnov, who was now splotched with blood. His light coat, which he had probably taken out of the bag, was definitely soiled. Even his face had traces of crimson that had been crudely wiped away. The doctor was taking off his surgical gloves before he looked up at Ivan.

This made the Russian's stomach knot with worry and vex. "Smirnov, I swear to God, if you got any of that on my sheets-" Ivan threatened, but Smirnov held up his hands in defense and protest.

"I assure you, sir, none of your things were ruined." The doctor said with slight fear in his tone. Ivan narrowed his eyes to a glare. "They'd better not be."

Smirnov blinked and looked down at the gloves that he was wadding up in his hands. His face was in a state of thought. He had something to say. Ivan guessed it was about your condition. "Well?" Ivan asked, wanting to get the information out of the man. Good news and bad news, Ivan demanded to know it.

Smirnov sighed before he began his sentence. "Well...where do I start?" He said under his breath. There was a lot for him to cover. "She is very weak and she has lost nearly a third of her blood from what I've calculated. But she might be able to reproduce the blood she lost in about a week since she is a country. As for the blood that is still exiting her body, just have her clean her mouth every few hours and it should go away. She has a fever of about 102 degrees, so I suggest that you give her plenty of fluids." Ivan crossed his arms while he listened, no longer surprised why the doctor too so long to examine you, which was nearly the entire day.

"Her sight is not good at all. When I shined the light in her eyes, her pupils didn't react. They stayed completely dilated and there was no movement from her eyes overall. The blood vessels in her eyes have burst which maybe the cause of her bad sight. However, she will be able to recover her sight in a few days. But for now, her vision will be blurry. She has excessive bleeding from the ears and she is unresponsive to sounds. I would give her hearing a few days to heal as well."

Smirnov then rubbed his eyes for a quick second. "Now," He began, signalling to Ivan that this was part of the bad news, "her throat has swelled up to where she can barely breath. I wasn't able to see past her tonsils which is not the best sign. It will take a while for her throat to reopen. Her breathing is very irregular and shallow. There is a possibility that there is blood trapped in her lungs, but overtime it will be absorbed by her body. Her heart beat seems normal, but it's still very faint due to the lack of blood. Her muscles are incredibly painful for her to use and it seems that her entire body is too stiff and sore to move."

Smirnov paused and concluded himself, looking up at Ivan. "But other than that, I'd recommend you to keep her off the training field and in bed for at least two weeks." Ivan raised his brows in skepticism and disagreement. "Two weeks?" He said in disbelief. "The army couldn't possibly wait that long."

"Sir, she needs rest in order to regain her fighting abilities. The more repose she gains, the sooner she recovers, the sooner she's back on the training field."

Quickly, Ivan evaluated his options. But he had none. It was a dead end for him. There was no way that you could stand out in the training field. There was no way you could stand. He peered into the room, over the doctor's head. He could see where you lay, still, motionless, no life whatsoever. Defeated in his own thoughts, Ivan closed his eyes.

"Fine." Ivan finally said, having no other solution to his problem. Smirnov nodded and ducked back into the room to remove his white coat and retrieve his bag of equipment.

Ivan walked into the room as well and looked around seeing as that Smirnov didn't lie when he said he didn't get anything tarnished. He noticed that the lamps were turned on with the darkening sky outside. Everything was the way it was when he exited his room, except one thing. You. You appeared different. There was no longer any blood on you. You were clean and wearing different clothing, clothing that was definitely too large for you. You were wearing a black, knitted sweater and a pair of dark green slacks that consumed your feet. Your hair was much darker than before. And soaking wet.

Ivan presumed that Smirnov must have taken the time to bathe you to erase the blood from your hair and body and snoop through his wardrobe and find some clothes for you. A chore that Ivan silently and admittedly thanked Smirnov for. He had the feeling that the bathroom wasn't going to be that dirty, considering the fact that Smirnov was a doctor and an ace at sanitation. So, he didn't question it.

"I guess I'll be on my way then." The doctor said, bundling his stained coat into his bag, closing it, and standing up straight. He took the bag into his hand. "If anything goes wrong or doesn't seem right with her, give me a call." Ivan nodded, dismissing the doctor back to the medical ward of the army base. And as quickly as he came, Smirnov left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ivan was alone with you now and he didn't know what to do with the time being. His day of work was already over, so going to his office would be pointless unless he worked the night away, which was something he detested. He didn't even feel like taking this perfect opportunity to have sex with you. And with the stress of the day pressing on his head and shoulders, he felt tired, worn out. And he didn't even pick up a single document from his pile in his office. It was just a day of waiting and thinking. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep. He smoked. All he wanted to to at this point was go to bed and forget the day. But it would be a challenge since you were going to be out of work for two weeks.

Sighing, Ivan went straight to the bathroom to clean off the dried blood on his hands and arms, unbuttoning his shirt in the process. Shrugging it off and revealing his muscular build, he tossed it to the wooden floor, caring less where it landed. Still, he left on his scarf. He flipped on the light in the bathroom and made his way over to the sink. He turned on the water and began cleaning his hands and arms, thoroughly. After he finished, he dried his hands and left the bathroom, choosing not to brush his teeth or shower for the night.

He walked back to his bed, over to the nightstand on your side, and reached under the lamp veil, taking hold of the switch. Glancing at you, he turned off the mellow light, allowing the darkness to sweep over you. He didn't take his eyes off of you as he stepped closer to you. His brows furrowed with pique as he leaned down to your head, his lips just brushed the shell of your ear. He knew that you couldn't hear him, but he had to say it, in case you, somehow, listened.

"You're mine." He whispered sweetly, and he stood up straight again and walked over to his side. He then switched off his lamp, kicked off his boots, and climbed into bed. However, he could not stop thinking about the questions that nagged him from when he was out in the hallway. He could only hope that they would subside and leave him when the morning came. Amazingly, he was able to bury them deep within his brain, but they never left. They were really just hiding and waiting for their next opportunity.


	19. Vitality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for is here. This is going to be a very interesting chapter for you guys. At this point, there is going to be a drastic change in emotions in chapters to come. Also, once I finish this fic, I will be going back into my previous chapters and edit them for liturature and grammar flaws and basically making it seem less cliche-like. So, that will be a good chance for you guys to read the fic again from start to finish. Don't forget to tell me what you guys think about the chapter or the previous ones and feel free to make predictions or ask me questions! Thank you all for the comments, hits, and kudos! I really appreciate your support! Enjoy! :D

August 13th, 1961 Beilschmidt Residence 5:53 AM

So soothing was his sleep. His dreams were devoid of the bittersweet melodies of his siblings' absence and their mocking presence, not that he hated the few dreams of you and Gilbert. In fact, he enjoyed the memories that would intrude in his sleep. It was the irritation that caused him anger, the victimizing truth that his siblings were alive. Alive, but suffering. And not a single day went by without him thinking about the tortures and persecution that were your everyday affair.

The guilt would endlessly get the better of Ludwig, and he began to feel like the days when he blamed Roderich the most were just excuses for himself. He had been so possessed with the hate, the ignorance, that he couldn't help but point at himself. He labeled and tagged his own self as the real culprit. The real master of the horrid crime. He was just glad that the Allies had put the blame upon him. He was only beginning to feel this sense of sin pulsing through his veins, through his heart. It was a spreading virus, one that was manipulating his mind.

But this wasn't something he was very good at hiding. Not at all. It was more than obvious to the world around him, even the people whom he didn't know. Alfred couldn't help but ask the German if he was holding up alright weeks and weeks after the world conference. He nodded for the first few days, but after a while, he became annoyed with the American's persistent checkups. He was so tired of hearing the same thing, every phone call, every letter. It was the same thing over and over again. "Are you okay? How are you doing, Lud? Everything will be fine. I promise."

Well, things weren't exactly fine. Of course nothing was fine. With every day flying by with such slow and fragile, Ludwig just couldn't find the strength to fight off the treacherous leech of misconduct. This phantom, this vampire, that gradually drained him of his hope and happy thoughts, was growing stronger. It fed off of him, sucking and feasting upon his every memory. It would stand right behind Ludwig, gazing into his brain, scrutinizing the memories that the German so dearly cherished. _Too bad it never lasted._ It would say. _Whatever made this story come crashing down, huh?_

And that was the end of it. He would stop thinking about his prized recollections that were trapped in his mind. They were protected from the eyes and ears of humans, but not his own conscience, the real entity that took a dramatic effect on his nerves. There was no hiding from it, even after running from it for nearly two decades. If he were a normal human being without the responsibilities of carrying on country struggles or having the curse of immortality, he would have committed suicide within the first year of the separation.

But his dreams seemed to have been his only escape. A temporary diversion that gave him a peaceful and cleared head. No, he didn't forget about you or Gilbert. Never would he allow such an action. But thinking about his siblings gave way to the uninvited guilt that pestered him so. It would wedge in using a disguise, coating itself with sugar. Everything sweet has its aftertaste.

His black canvas of sleep was slowly draining from him. There was a ringing in the darkness, a bell. Furrowing his brows, Ludwig squeezed his eyes as the desire to ignore the annoying ringing grew weaker and weaker. He just wanted to sleep. Parting his lids slightly, he picked his head up from his pillow, gazing at his clock. The alarm didn't go off. His clock sat silently on the nightstand. Very vaguely could Ludwig see the little arms on it. His eyes were still adjusting. It was only minutes away from six o'clock. He slumped his head back down on the pillow, but only a second after he did, the ringing cried out again.

Ludwig's eyes fluttered open to the tormenting bell. It was the phone. The up to date telephone was chiming in its holder on its third ring. He had to act fast if he were to answer the call. However, all he wanted was to go back to sleep and dream about nothing. It wasn't until the bell was in its fourth ring did he pick up the phone. Lazily and slightly badgered by his action, he reached out from under his blanket and grabbed the headpiece, taking it under the covers with him. The coiled wire was only slightly stretched as the distance between the headpiece and telephone became farther apart.

Ludwig put the headpiece up to his mouth and ear. Very wearily, he spoke into the phone, sounding slightly irritated with the early morning call. "Beilschmidt residence."

"Ludwig..." Said the other end. It was Alfred. Ludwig could recognize his voice from any where, not to mention that he called nearly every other day. "Scheisse, Alfred, why the fuck do you have to call me this early?" Ludwig snapped, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his free hand.

"Ludwig, you have to listen to me. This is fucking important." Alfred said gravely, he sounded stern, distraught, and shaken. Ludwig became only slightly alert from the American's tone, but he was still very angry that he wasn't getting the sleep he wanted. He was too awake now to go back into the black void.

Ludwig sighed and replied back. "Alright. What is it, Alfred?" He held in a yawn. "What's wrong?" There was a hesitation to Alfred's words as he let them drop into place. It was like he didn't want to cause panic to the German. This had to have been bad news. Besides, the American was calling him at nearly one o'clock in the morning in his country.

"Now-- Just, stay calm when I tell you what I need to tell you." Alfred said with his throat sounding dry. Ludwig tsked and felt like gritting his teeth. "Alfred, just spill it already. What's so important?"

"I-It's your siblings. There's been a geographical change." The American stuttered, not entirely telling Ludwig the drastic situation. Ludwig's eyes shot open, his blue irises bloomed into a heavy and worried shade. He sat up in bed, ripping the blanket off of him, but he didn't get out of the bed.

He sat there with a harsh grip on the headpiece, holding it close to his ear. He furrowed his brows in extreme concern. This had to be bad. He knew this, because of Alfred's tone and the 'geographical change' of his siblings. He knew that Alfred was trying not to madden him and keep his mind from overreacting to the news. But keeping it from him was a mistake.

"What?" Ludwig said, fully awake and alarmed now. His tone was a muffled thunder. "What do you mean 'geographical change', Alfred?"

"I don't know how they did it, but--" Alfred was cut off by the now enraged German. "Who's 'They'?" Ludwig boomed into the phone, his accent was much thicker. Alfred almost couldn't understand him.

"The Soviets have built walls around the GDR and the entire island of (country name)." Alfred said slowly, allowing Ludwig to get every word and process it thoroughly. Not a single word came out of Ludwig's mouth, nor could he move.

"Without any surveillance, they were somehow able build them both in one night." Alfred continued after permitting Ludwig some time to let the news sink in. "We believe that they blocked off the streets and ports of both countries. Already, ships and planes have been blown out of the water and the sky in the Balti--"

"No." Ludwig said briefly, his voice was bold. Alfred hesitated before speaking again, but he was interrupted again. "Ludwig, I--"

"No." The German repeated. He was much angrier now. "That's impossible, Alfred. There is no way that damn Russian was able to commit such a preposterous thing. Not in one night. No one would allow him or give him the fucking right to do so. NATO would have stopped him from something like this."

"Ludwig...," Alfred began, his voice reeked of defeat and pity, "He didn't need to get permission. It was just his own executive power and the loyalty of his party to execute this plan. No one saw this coming. Not even NATO. And my agents had no knowledge of it--"

"How could you let something like that happen?" Ludwig shouted into the phone. Alfred had to move the phone away from his ear, because the outburst was so loud. Ludwig's heart was throbbing and aching his chest. He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. "It's impossible for you not to tell me! Since you're always checking up on me like you're my fucking older brother! Because, guess what, you're fucking not!"

Alfred was very quiet on the other side, but after a minute of listening to the heavy and unsteady breathing of the German, he sighed. "If you won't listen to me, Ludwig, I understand. But it's going to be everywhere. On the radio, the television, and around you. You are bound to stumble upon the incident today and there's no stopping it. I'm going to let you go. I know you're going to call back, and that's fine. Just-- don't apologize to me when you find out, okay? I understand."

Click. The line went dead. He dropped jaw and his face sketched a shocked portrait. All that Ludwig could hear in his ear was a soft and lengthy buzz. Alfred had hung up and ended the call. Ludwig figured that the American couldn't put up with his ignorance and disbelief of this 'event' that happened a few hours ago. He sounded legitimately angry and disappointed. Maybe it was because he had said several words in the past that were just as similar, to Arthur that is. The denial wasn't something Alfred could put behind Ludwig and there was no use trying to do so. But something troubled the German. Alfred was shocked, emotional, too. So fervent about the 'news' that it made Ludwig think. Maybe something really did happen.

But at the same time, he wanted to deny it. He kept pondering as he sat there with the headpiece pressed to his ear and jawline. There was no way that you would have allowed this. You were in the Soviet system and had to have known something. Alfred always mentioned that agents would gather information that Ivan would brag to you. There had to have been something that you overheard or received from the Russian. Then again, your freedoms were limited, bound by totalitarianism. You were a slave to Ivan and your power was nonexistent.

There loomed a grave thought that only cast Ludwig farther into dread. If the news was true, what exactly did that mean for Gilbert? Fearing the worst, Ludwig couldn't help but jump out of bed and head to his dresser in the dark, stumbling as he went. He felt for the little box with its many dials and switches. The radio. After finding it, he searched for the button that brought it to life. He pushed it and tuned it as best he could. A few seconds of static screamed from the speaker, but he finally got to a station. Ludwig listened in. How wrong he was.

"Earlier this morning, presumably at 2 AM, Soviet soldiers and government officials blockaded around the East German border and constructed a wall. There has been no communication with the other side. Already, crowds are gathering at this wall, but only on the West side. We have also gotten a new report that East Germany is not the only region to be affected by Soviet Russia. (Country name) has fallen to this curtain as well. This is unbelievable, my friends, but bare with me." The host cleared his throat. Ludwig stepped backwards slowly. He shook his head lightly with skepticism.

The German couldn't believe the words that streamed out of the radio. He turned towards his door and strode straight for it. Meanwhile, the radio still spat out the incoming news.

"The entire country of (Country name) has been sealed off with a wall as well. Yes. The entire perimeter and the area around the island. Soviet ships are patrolling the waters as we speak. A naval blockade."

Ludwig ripped the door open, entering the hallway. His now wide and alert eyes darted to Gilbert's room. Sprinting down the dark hallway, he aimed for his brother's door.

"Just like the East side, there has been absolutely no communication. We do not have anymore information, but when new reports come in, we will keep you posted. We strongly urge families with missing members to report to the police as quickly as possible. This goes for mothers, fathers, missing children, and other members."

Ludwig through open the door to Gilbert's room and entered the vacant space. His blue eyes searched out the bird cage that sat on the unused desk. Slowly, he stepped towards it, holding his breath. His throat was incredibly dry and his heart raced with panic. Now standing over Gilbird's enclosure, Ludwig's chest froze as he looked down into the metal cage.

"Please, we urgently need your help." Said the radio host from in Ludwig's room.

The little bird was more red than he was yellow.

 

August 25th, 1961 Moscow, The capitol building 7:35 PM

Cold. That's all it was. Cold. There wasn't snow, nor sleet, nor rain, nor wind. It was still and cold. The air wasn't just a faint chilliness or a freezing degree. The aroma outside was crisp and completely deprived of moisture, almost like a late autumn afternoon. It was just plain, dry, and bitter. And Ivan loved it. _Such perfect weather._ A good amount of people were strolling down the wide streets, going about their business, even at this time of day. The sun was halfway beneath the horizon and the sky was a dark, navy hue. Already a few stars dotted the massive canvas of shady blue. Soon, the air would decrease in its already enjoyable temperature.

He was glad that his day of work was over. He didn't want to see the image of the blackened sky in his memory or the morbid cold to touch his skin, though it was something that he normally accustomed to. Ivan was so used to the harsh and grey weeks that the sunny and somewhat warmer days that rarely popped up added some color to his country. It gave him a relief or a vacation from his shade of white, grey, and frost. But what made his disturbing sense of pleasure flicker within him was the dying part of the process.

People would walk outside, thinking that the weather would stay warm for several hours. But some of those citizens would linger among the streets for too long and find themselves in the cold for night, never able to search out their way home. Only a few hours later would they be dead on the icy ground, and just another few hours later would they be scrapped up off the stone before anyone would stumble upon them.

Flowers would bloom and then become frozen petals that would be ravished by the deadly and unforgiving frost, never to bloom until the brief and unsatisfying summer. Rabbits would dig out of their burrows in search of food only to be caught and have their flesh devoured by foxes and hawkish owls. They'd squeak out cries for help as their stomach were ripped open by the daggers of the predator's teeth. They were still alive when the malign hunter began eating, dotting the snow with dark, crimson pools. Ivan often smiled at the thought.

However, he didn't feel like staying for extra paperwork or for the sickening cold that was spreading throughout his country. Ivan still had to take care of one more thing before he went to bed. He had to check on you. This was something that he was doing three times a day instead of twice. Much to his discontent, his property was still unable to get out of bed, which was not at all good for his sake. Yes, you were still very weak and unfit to train the Russian army, but you were getting better. Just ever so slowly. And Ivan did not like that at all.

For nearly two weeks, you rested and recovered in Ivan's room. Your bedroom was still contaminated with blood and it was nearly impossible to get the stains out of the wooden floor. The planks were so drenched with the crimson liquid that hidden rats had gathered in your room to chew on the blood soaked wood for nutrients.

Your overall body was still fairly skinny, but you were regaining blood quickly. Luckily, the blood stopped pouring and oozing from your ears, mouth, and nose. Your muscle mass was returning, but there wasn't enough to support yourself and it was painfully sore and stiff to move. Ivan knew this, because he was able to touch you without getting slapped or a broken nose. Again, you were too sensitive and feeble to move. He would simply lift your top just enough for him to see your stomach and your slowly fading ribs. Even your wrists were alarmingly bony from beneath your consuming sleeves. You hadn't eaten anything, nor did you drink, because your throat was so sore and so swollen that it was impossible for you to consume anything. Ivan couldn't see the back of your throat because of your bloated tonsils. Amazingly, you were able to breath just fine.

He couldn't help but notice something that would never happen when you were at your normal state. When he would enter the room or walk in front of you on your side of the bed, you didn't move or react to his entrance or approach. Your eyes were barely open and the whites of your half-lidded eyes were pink with irritation. They would only blink once in a while. Sometimes, Ivan would gently place his fingers on your eyelids and close them, hoping that the darkness would heal your (e/c) orbs. You wouldn't even react to his touch. But hours later, he would come back and find your eyes slightly parted open again. He often thought of tying a blindfold over them, but he would always forget to take care of the task.

Another thing that struck Ivan was that you didn't react to noise. It occurred to him that your sense of hearing was still absent and needed more time. He would snap his fingers close to your ears, sending the splitting noise straight to your eardrum, waiting for a flinch, a curse, a glare, a grunt of annoyance. But nothing came out of you. Absolutely nothing but silence and faint, steady breathing. He knew it was because the affected areas that were responsible for your senses were numb and unresponsive.

Your condition was extremely critical and it was taking you longer than expected to heal, an inconvenience for Ivan. The only improvement was your regrowth of muscle, blood, and your diminishing fever, though it was nevertheless considerably high. All that remained was your damaged senses and the time it took until you were fully replenished. Ivan hoped that it wouldn't take that long.

But he did enjoy a few things about you being entirely immobilized and weak. One, being that this was something he was seldom able to do, he could get close to you without having a glare stare back up at him. Not to mention that whenever he would touch you around other people, you would shrug him off or attempt to slap his hand away. But now, he could do what he wanted without having that obstacle. However, he did not perform perverted actions on you while you rested in his bed, nor did he undertake to rape you again. He felt that if he messed with your body, it would cause some sort of damage and only prolong his waiting time.

Although his actions were very merciful, he didn't exactly leave you be. Before he went to bed, he would stay up and lounge next to you, resting his back against the headboard with his legs outstretched, smoking profusely. He would tenderly stroke your hair, smoothing it, ruffing it up gently, and then smoothing it again. The (h/c) strands would flow through the spaces between his fingers. His fingertips would then find their way back to the base of your head, where he would then pet your hair with its original flow and direction. He couldn't help but get a repetitive arousal from it.

Placing the filed and organized folders back into his desk, he got out of his chair and pushed it under the desk. He picked up his hat, but he did not put it on. He simply held it, cradled it in his hands. After working inside all day, he felt that there was no point in placing it on his head. It was mandatory that officials and heads of the Union were to wear every article of their uniforms at all times, but Ivan had the freedom to choose since he was one of the rule makers. All of the officials in his wing were definitely gone since it was well past six o'clock, but they may have left earlier for one reason.

Earlier those two weeks, Ivan wasn't really the happiest person on earth and they took notice immediately. But they never really could tell how he felt, because he always wore a smile that masked pure sadism. However, for the lengthy fortnight, Ivan was different. His violet eyes were stressed and irritated, so aggressively purple that nobody dared to utter a word to him. Nor would they breath in the same room as him in fear that he would snatch their throats, forcing them to return the air that they had stolen. Ivan's brows were harsh and constantly fixed as if he were staring down an opponent or pondering hard about an unpopular complication, one that he did not want to deal with.

And they were absolutely right. He was stressed, annoyed, and definitely seeking blood. But he couldn't with his hands tied in the work that he had. He didn't have time to eat or drink or smoke. All he had was paperwork and the dreamless sleep that followed after his hour of smoke and the company of the nearly paralyzed Nazi in his bed. But he had to admit, he had been through much worse, though this was almost equivalent. It wasn't all that bad, and the pressure would be long gone in the next couple of weeks. Besides, his next vacation time was coming up soon and he wouldn't have to worry or bite his nails over the matter. He would have to put up with one thing and that was the reunification.

Ivan could not believe that he was allowing you to meet your brother again. At the start of November he decided to do this, but it was coming far too quickly than he thought. He planned to keep the two of you separate until he felt like it, in other words, never. His plan to forever desecrate and obliterate the Germanics was no longer a possibility. Once you were reunited with Gilbert, the bond would be rebuilt, therefore strengthening the acknowledgment and hope within the countries. The citizens would keep their pride and their honor, finding that the Union had a loophole. That the USSR was bendable. It wouldn't be surprising if the minority rebellions would rise up and take advantage of the situation in the future, but it was too early for Ivan to make the allegations. It had only been two weeks.

Seeing that the sky was fading fast and toning down to a dark navy, Ivan turned and headed to the door. He exited his office and took to the maze of hallways that led to his room. The windows produced little to no light whatsoever. Luckily, he made it to his room without tripping over his own feet in the dark. Slowly, he grasped the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door. His tired and amethyst eyes lazily darted to where you lay after he closed the door behind him.

You were motionless and hushed laying there. No blankets covered you. You were still wearing the black, over-sized sweater and dark green slacks that were way passed your feet, consuming them. Your body was curled up and only slightly sprawled. As Ivan sauntered closer to the bed, he could see that you had barely moved since the morning. Not a lock of your hair was out of place. Anyone would take you for the dead if they weren't careful.

Ivan made it to his side of the bed and switched on the lamp light, mellowly illuminating the dim room. He immediately set his hat onto the surface of the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes with one hand as he reached into one of the drawer. He pulled out two objects, one being the box of smokes that he had and the other was a book. _The Little Prince._ Ivan barely read for pleasure simply because he was far too busy with work and other government related occupations, but when he had the time, he would read classics. Surprising for many to believe.

It was funny that he didn't care for disturbing and bloody works of fiction and non-fiction. Ivan enjoyed reading dramas and books that stimulated the imagination, though his was a bit over the rim of cruelty. He even took the pleasure in skimming his eyes over children's books that held fantasy, knights in armor, and fire-breathing dragons. Childish, yes, but no one really knew about his secret entertainment. And if they were to happen upon them, the officials wouldn't take them away because of their foolishness, but because many of them were banned. Ivan, however, kept the books that he enforced to be destroyed within his country. But even he couldn't go without them.

Often, he would ask his officials to bring in books that were considered threats to the communist government, but many of them were fictional children's stories. Telling his officials that he would demolish the books, he would sneak them to his room. No one could know the difference. They were out of sight, out of mind. No one would dare to question him if he were to be caught in the act. He would always bash himself for reading them and threat himself internally to burn them in the fireplace, but he couldn't help to keep himself from slinking back to the stories and cracking them open. A way of keeping himself sane is what he guessed.

Closing the drawer, he plopped the book onto the bed. Setting the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, Ivan began to take off his belt, his decorated uniform top, and his tie, keeping them at the far corner of the bed. Kicking off his boots, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. All that he kept on was his white, button up dress shirt, his pants, socks, and his lengthy scarf.

Taking out one cigarette from the box, Ivan placed it between his lips. His hand reached into his pocket, bringing out his lighter. He ignited it quickly, bringing the flame up to the addictive roll of tobacco. Once he had it going, he put the lighter onto the nightstand, next to the overfilled ashtray. He sat there for several long moments before he placed himself further onto the bed, exhaling smoke from his lungs as he stared up at the blank ceiling. Every few minutes would he reach over to the ashtray and flick his cigarette. He wasn't going to read just yet.

After nearly fifteen minutes, he was finished relieving himself, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray. Ivan laid back down, but he turned his head towards you, studying you. He watched as your side faintly moved up and down, showing that you were breathing ever so softly. It was hard for him to believe that you were in some way awake, just unaware of your surroundings. He had seen you sleep before, and it looked quite similar to the image before him. But somehow, he knew that you were sleepless, even when your body wanted you to gain rest.

Again, it was at this moment that Ivan felt his chest and head clog with certain emotions, the same feelings that he had two weeks ago. The two that screamed the loudest were hate and pity. His expression towards you was confused, curious, loathing. He couldn't decide what. Ivan had wanted this to happen to you, for you to feel and endure hell. A punishment that would leave a hefty scar on you physically and mentally. But a defiant part of him felt sympathy for you, even now.

Of course, he desired you to know why you got what you deserved and that it should be an unpleasant reminder to be chiseled into your brain. Deep down inside of his complex mind, however, he thought it was a little too much. That someone who possessed such insubordination, stubbornness, and determination could have so much power over him. Ivan often felt the need to scold himself for even daring to give you some sort of respect for the matter.

Ivan sat up near the headboard of the bed and took up _The Little Prince_ , placing the book beside him. Cautiously and hesitantly, he reached for you, scooping one arm under your waist. Easily and ever so tenderly, he dragged you towards him. Not a sound or a shutter came out of you. He could only pick up the slow and peaceful rhythm of your breathing. Weightless was your frame, so lifeless.

Your head was limp as he pulled you closer. Carefully, he slid you over him, having your back against his large torso. Heat and warmth radiated off of you, most likely from your fever. Your body was now in front of him, laying against him with your head on his chest, your arms limp at your sides, and your legs between his. He couldn't help but notice how short your legs were compared to his. Your feet barely reached past his knees. Ivan knew he was tall, but this was just ridiculous. The Latvian in his home was almost as tall as you, but you had to have been shorter. Your country size wasn't as big as Raivis's. The Russian had to leave it at that, there was no other explanation.

Pushing the mental note aside, Ivan reached for the book, grabbing it with one hand. Placing it in front of you and him, he cracked open The Little Prince, and began to read from where he left off. Luckily for him, he could understand French. Page 51. _"The Little Prince crossed the desert-"_ His eyes took off, reading from left to right and then to the left and to the right again. His voice spoke the words on the pages in the chasm of his mind. Absolutely nothing else traced past his mind except the words from the story.

Pure and deep reading was his head. But alas, it wasn't long before he felt his eyes become sore and heavy. Taking one hand off the book, he rubbed his eyes. Half an hour had to have passed. His eyes had only made it to page 63 and had stopped on the last line of the page. He read it twice to make sure he had read it before. _"Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."_ Something that Ivan disagreed with completely.

He closed the book and put it aside. Suddenly, he felt the weight of sleep push down on him. The reading must have taken his mind off of his body's desires, draining its senses. Ivan strangely snaked his hands around you, holding you in a sort of embrace. It may have been called a hug, but it didn't feel like one to him. He sat there with you in his arms, his chin resting on your head with his back resting against the headboard. Minutes passed. He hadn't grown any more weary, but he could feel the sleep pressing on his temples.

Ivan couldn't help but allow his mind to crawl back to the badgering questions that he had two weeks ago. He felt pity. He repeated this in his mind. He felt pity for the enemy. This was unbelievable for him to hear within himself. The amount of inner hate and anger for himself was overwhelming. Even then, he felt like taking his loath out on you while he had the chance. The least he could do was grab you out of his bed, drag you down the hallway. Streaking you against the wood and throwing you into your own room, forcing your unable self to settle and deal with your own needs. Fend for yourself, basically. But he didn't do such a thing.

Instead, he continued to sit there. Only minutes flew by until he found himself rubbing his thumb on your arm. Then, he turned his head to where his cheek was on the top of your head, taking the placement of his chin. Your heat felt so good to him. A change of temperature for him since he was so used to the cold. Luckily, it was not possible for him to contract any sicknesses from another being. He could barely feel your heart beating through your back. The rhythm was steady, soft, pleasing to the ears. It was a clock ticking, the dripping of water from a faucet, the tapping of impatient fingers against wood. So hypnotic. Ivan could feel his brain turning off. He had to go to sleep soon.

Removing his cheek from your head, he took you off of him, moving you beside him. He then stopped for a movement, frozen in place. Ivan felt you stir in his grip. He watched as you rolled on your side with a faint sigh. Steadily, your curled up and fell silent again, breathing without struggle. Ivan's eyes then lazily glanced at the lamp that stung his sight. Too exhausted to think anymore, he reached for the switch to the lamp and turned it off. The room was swept up by night, only making Ivan's desire to sleep even more demanding.

He took his back off of the headboard and laid down, flat on his back. He closed his eyes for a few minutes. Beneath his resting exterior, he was still thinking, unable to lock up his bothersome ponders. Had he really done all of those things for you out of regret? Surely he had done them so that you could get on your feet again. And he didn't exactly give you what you needed to restore your health besides giving you time to rest. It wasn't like him, no. However, he couldn't help but to make excuse after excuse for every guilty truth that popped up.

Ivan rolled onto his side, facing away from you. He opened his now purple, frustrated eyes, furrowing his brows in anger. The persistent and mocking inquiries scampered one by one across his mind, darting from the left side of his brain and to the right. Was he secretly agreeing that the wall was too harsh, too much? Would this mean that you were unable to train for months? Years? He had to bite his tongue after the last question, the one that sparked heat all throughout his face, ears, and chest. Was he to owe you an apology?

"No." He whispered aloud under his breath, growling as the single word slipped past his pale lips. _Never._ He thought. It was the last thing he would want to say to you. Never would he allow his lips utter the words 'I'm sorry' to you for something he purposefully intended to do. Not to anybody for that matter. It would be ludicrous for him to do such a laughable and cowardice scheme. You already knew how lenient he was and if he were to let that rub off on you, then you would only become more and more defiant to him. It would only be a matter of time until you rebelled with all you had. Then, Ivan would be done for on ever strengthening his army.

After about an hour of laying there, wrestling with his own mind, he felt his body growing cold. The night was growing darker and the temperature was dropping rapidly. His feet were becoming ice, even with his socks on. But odd enough, he didn't feel like getting under the blankets. He eased his aggravated brows. Ivan didn't want to go through the trouble of getting up and then laying back down. He was too tired, too lazy.

Turning his head slightly, he gazed over at you. There was heat fuming from off of you. Ivan could feel it on him, even from a few feet away. He actually could sense his spine stiffening and shivering lightly. _No. You don't need it._ He hissed in thought. He wanted your heat. He needed to be warm.

Ivan traitorously and disloyally rolled over and moved over to you. He easily snaked his arms around you, tucking his hands beneath you. Spooning you, his head overreached yours, his chin resting on the very top of your head. Your hair was soft on his jaw and your warmth was more than relieving to the cold teeth that bit down on Ivan's body. Soon, the heat engulfed him, soothing his mind. Once again, the questions deserted him, burying themselves in the sand of sleep. Ivan didn't bother to cover both you and him with any blankets. The fever was warm enough for him.

 

 

November 3rd, 1961 10:25 AM

The plains and fields that flashed by earlier were thick with the dying blades of grass. Autumn leaves lined the sides of the road as well as the fences with their many bordering trees. Many woods came and went, but now, it was just thick autumn forest. Orange, brown, yellow, some red, and some still green. No snow today. Not a single, delicate particle of ice fell from the clear, blue sky. However, that didn't exactly mean that it wasn't cold. Sure, the sun was high and bright in the cloudless sea of blue, but it provided no warmth. The air was freezing, even in the car. A valuable heat source was out of the question even though there was one present. But there was no way you would access yourself to such a thing.

The gentle hum of the car could not pierce past the throbbing of blood in your head. The crimson pumped, rushing through your temples and up your neck, down through your chest and to your furious heart. There was no time wasted with the racing of your lively organ. It would not calm down, nor would it give you the possibility to breath, though it was hard enough already. Your lungs were so sore, stiff, and limited to oxygen. It was painful to inhale and exhale the icy air. Your chest would get to a certain point when it would grunt. _That's far enough._

Your muscles were very uncooperative to your every desired move. So much of your weight was lost. Your clothes were looser than before the incident, but gradually the strength was returning to your body. It was a gigantic struggle for you to walk or even move around. It was such a very antagonizing matter for nearly three months. You weren't able to get on the training field and straighten out soldiers that stepped out of line, but you still had to be there to drill and observe. You would only walk slowly along the row of uniformed men, scrutinizing their stances, their jabs, their blows, their marching, their rhythm.

However, because of your temporary condition, you had to be lenient. One quick move and a shock wave of pain would spike up your chest. Your vocal chords were fully healed, but your lungs were strict with their air. There was no way you could shout curses at the soldiers or insult them with the utmost fire and brutality. But you had other means of threatening them. Just whispering under your breath in your own language made the hairs stand up on the back of their necks. You could tell.

The whites of your eyes were, well, white again. The redness was gone about a month after the incident. Finally, you were able to see clearly again. All your vision was for that first month was a red haze, unable to filter any other colors besides that damn red. You were so sick of the color. Red. Even saying it disgusted you. It was everywhere. Not once would it cease to enter your field of vision. You never would have guessed that a coloration would cause you to go insane. With all of the raging factors building upon you, one key thing stood out and added the log to your fire. Ivan.

How you hated that man, more than ever now. The day that you regained your conscience and your ability to sense the world around you, the loath slapped you head on as well as a good helping of internal agony. Once Ivan saw that you were slightly functional and awake after his day of work, he smiled faintly with sweet cruelty. He cooed you as he gazed down upon you, knowing that you were still too weak to even raise your raise your head. "How are you feeling, pet?"

Demanding to know what he had done to you, you growled in a hoarse and faded voice, not wanting to look at him. Instead, your eyes narrowed, squinting in pain as you stared at nothing. "W-- What...have you done to me...?"

You couldn't help but to shut your eyes and wince as he steadily sat down next to you on the edge of the bed. He was too close. Your brain panicked, knowing that you were far too frail to strike at him. He bent over to your head, his lips just brushing your ear. Very venomously and softly, he whispered with sternness. "What was essential."

Shockingly, he permitted you to rest for quite a number of weeks and you would only sleep while he worked in his office, away from you for several hours. But by the time darkness swept over Moscow, Ivan would return to his room. Some nights he would leave you alone and give you the space that you needed, though he knew that you wouldn't go into a state of slumber. For most nights, however, Ivan would roll over after only a half hour of lights out and get close to you. So close that your head and back would come into contact with his broad chest. His arms latching over yours and his chin resting on the top of your head.

Knowing that you were far too fragile to move, he took his snide opportunities. Staying awake for most of the nightfall, you would normally try blinking, hoping that exercising your eyes would cause them to regain clarity to sight. Regrettably, you couldn't help but to get lost in the Russian's heartbeat. Oddly enough, it distracted you and lead you straight into the dance of sleep. Luckily, your doze wasn't that long, allowing you to wake up before Ivan would. It wasn't until your fourth week of being awake in Ivan's room did you move back to your own headquarters.

Over time, you found out what had happened in both (Country name) and East Germany and the overall damage of it all. Your news sources came from newspapers and radio broadcasts in the many offices and streets, echoing from room to room and building to building. But your most reliable news came from your advanced skill of eavesdropping on the soldiers. Though they were dastardly loyal to the Union, a few of them couldn't hold their mouths when it came to secret opinions or the latest news about the GDR or (Country name). Very rarely would they rat out on each other, but many of them would try and make the Iron Curtain seem like a very right and just way of teaching the German people a valuable lesson. They were calling Gilbert's tethering structure the Berlin Wall.

Your imprisonment, on the other hand, was called the Cell Wall. A very ironic name that was apparently thought up by Khrushchev. The name had many meanings. One, being that you were fundamentally a cell, a blood cell that is, producing and exporting to only one buyer. Second, in a way, your country could be seen as a prison cell, keeping citizens within the barrier, unable to let anyone from leaving. People couldn't come in, people couldn't come out. If they did not work, they were considered useless and shot dead. Basically, you and Gilbert were complete and legitimate prisoners, never to leave this jail of red.

However, your heart did not race for that reason. No, it was the arrangement of today. The day that you thought would never occur. You were actually going to meet with the brother you had not seen or heard from in years, 16 years to be exact. There was a sense of joy within your tortured chest. It was like receiving a miracle from God himself and all you could do was thank him. But, as usual, the doubts and troubles wandered straight into your mind. Would he be disappointed in you after having been told about your status? Would he forgive you? Did he know about your behavior at the world meeting?

You didn't know for sure on how he would react to your sudden appearance in Ivan's manor. On one hand, Gilbert would give you a pat on the back for defying all of the Russian's requests and orders. Not to mention how proud he must have been for being a tough cookie the entire time he was isolated. But there were the troubling factors that wrestled with the positive.

You knew how much Gilbert hated Ivan and his Soviet party. You wouldn't have any idea on how he would see you. After all, you were a member of the damn regime, maybe one of the only countries in the Union that is actually doing something to strengthen the communists. The Russian also made certain that you would wear your uniform and the red star clear as day over your heart when you first arrived. A huge _'fuck you'_ from Ivan to Gilbert, and he didn't even have to say a word. All he had to do is drop you at your brother's feet and give him the ability to look at you and the large, red star pin.

There was a light tap on your foot, dragging you from the boundaries of your thoughts. All your inner reflections collapsed upon each other as you snapped back to reality. Your head was being held up by your bent arm, which was resting on the armrest of your door. Blinking for a moment, you glanced at the man that sat on the other side of the seat. Ivan was staring at you with a fixed glare as he leaned on half of his back on his door and the seat. Part of you hoped that the door would open up behind him, causing him to fall out and possibly be caught under the wheel of the car.

His boot had tapped the side of yours, ripping you straight from your deep ponder. A few seconds passed and he had not said a single word. He just glared at you with heavy, narrow, and livid eyes. His brows were in a very grim state underneath his beige bangs. He cocked his head to the other side, shifting it without taking his eyes off of you. He blinked lazily. Still, he did not utter anything from his lips. He had nothing to verbally say. The gesture that he executed was a simple _"snap out of it."_

Acknowledging his action, you stared out of the window once again, only this time, your eyes caught something. The deep woods faded off and revealed open fields on both sides of the road. A tall, black, sentinel fence was along the field that was to your side. And in the middle of that enclosed field was a colossal building. A manor. It definitely looked traditionally Slavic and eastern. It had to have been several meters high, three stories, dozens of yards in length with numerous windows. Several large trees and shrubs surrounded the structure, providing it with shade and life.

The fence stretched for yards. It took nearly two minutes to get to the gate, which was heavily guarded and chained. You clenched your jaw. Even here you would be watched. But you should have expected it. The car then pulled up to the gate and stopped briefly as the soldiers unlocked the entrance, permitting the car to enter. The vehicle moved along, heading straight for the monstrous house. As the car drew closer to the building, you could see that there wasn't a driveway. The road curved around the front of the manor like a horseshoe, meaning that the driver was just dropping you and Ivan off. You would be stuck here with the Russian with no means of transportation. Not even for an escape attempt with your brother.

The blood in your neck throbbed endlessly, pumping crimson quickly to your head and back down to your heart. The pounding sound of your pulse blocked out everything, including your own thoughts as the car pulled up to the manor, swerving halfway around the horseshoe. This was it. You were finally here. Gilbert was yards away, somewhere in that manor, waiting for you or completely unaware of your arrival. And you, out of all people, were not ready even with a substantial amount of time in advance for this day.

"I'm giving you a few first and final warnings before I allow you to step foot on my property, Beilschmidt." Ivan said, adjusting the hat that covered the top of his head and his messy, beige hair. He looked straight ahead, not looking at you. His face was devoid of color besides hidden anger. You could tell that he wasn't going to be humble about today since he never planned for it to ever happen. Turning your head to where you could see him out of the corner of your eye, you kept your silence, not feeling the need to talk back...yet.

"There are exactly fifty guards patrolling the fence at all times. The perimeter of my home is surrounded by ten. And in case you think you can get away with handing off information to your brother, I've put a few of my men inside the building." He finally glanced at you for a second, smirking indignantly. "So don't get smart."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" You replied, looking back out the window. Very appallingly, Ivan chuckled at your counter. "You should be. You trained them after all." He mocked in an almost upbeat, and he opened his door, stepping out of the car. Sighing before you got out of the car, you let his tease slip past your already festering mind. There were far more important things to be worrying about. Far more valuable things.

With your heart in your throat, you stared up at the towering and lengthy home as you slammed the car door shut. You had to admit, it had a very well-kept appearance and the overall structure was remarkable. But you knew that it came with a sacrifice that Ivan, of course, did not commit to. It had to have been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe millions. Such a pity to the citizens who pay for Ivan's living and property expenses. He barely lived in the manor. Only his prisoners did. And you could tell that the Ruski wasn't kidding with the patrols. You already spotted some by the sides of the building, guns in their arms and attention in their steps.

Your (e/c) eyes darted to the front door, which was now thrown open. There stood a man you hardly knew. Several times in the past, you would see this man at meetings or at conferences between him and Gilbert, but you had never really met him. Just observed him. His green eyes were wide, almost with surprise or hidden shock, most likely because of you. The shoulder-length hair that cascaded from his head was a light brown shade, complimenting his soft emerald eyes. He was dressed in a casual, white dress shirt, brown slacks, and ankle high boots. He wasn't tall and he wasn't short, but you could tell that he was much taller than you. And though he looked like a decent and easygoing man, you knew right off the top that he was a pussy. That and Gilbert always mentioned it. His name was Toris, the country of Lithuania.

Wasting no time, Toris hurried out of the doorway and down the steps leading to the horseshoe-shaped pavement. The Lithuanian then approached Ivan with caution in his steps and a smile on his face. "Welcome home, Mr. Braginski." He said warmly. You took this time to walk around the car and to the trunk to busy yourself with your things. Anything to avoid interfering with the short greeting. "Bags are in the trunk, Toris." Ivan mumbled, pushing past Toris with the unfriendly gesture, heading to the front door. You could see the Baltic shudder silently where he stood just by taking a brief glance.

He hesitated for a moment before he walked up to you, obviously aware of your capabilities and reputation. Definitely no brave. He had even paused to swallow before opening his mouth to finally speak to you. "(Y-y/n). I-- don't think we've ever met." He said gently, but his pleasant smile returned to his lips. "Well, face to face that is." You turned to him, tilting your head up to meet with his face. Staring at him with an unmoved face and lazily lidded eyes, you acknowledged his friendly approach. It was a bit strange for you to hear such a hospitable and dulcet greeting. Harsh shouts and cooed mockeries were all that you were used to at this point.

"Toris." He said, extending his hand to you slowly, not exactly sure if you would actually shake his hand. Glancing at his motion for quite some time, you hesitantly returned the gesture. "Gilbert has talked a lot about you."

You looked up at him with a straight face, but your eyes held an internal smirk. "And so has he about you." You simply replied, remembering all of the things your brother had told you about the Lithuanian. That he was a known mouse. Toris nodded once, knowing that Gilbert had most likely talked quite a lot of shit about him.

You both let go of each other's grip. "I- uh... Can take care of this. Go ahead and get inside. I'll be there shortly to take you to see him." Toris said, waving his hand over the trunk of the car. "You sure?" You asked, slightly raising an eyebrow.

Looking completely taken aback, Toris blinked and briefly allowed his smile to disappear for a moment. You took it that he was rarely asked that or that he didn't expect such an offer from you. He thought you would be harsh or insult him. But you didn't. You were suggesting to help him with the luggage.

"I'm sure." He assured, smiling once again. "Now, go on inside. It's freezing out here." He extended his hand and gently patted your upper arm, a bold move of his.

You stared at him for a moment, studying him with an expressionless face. There seemed to have been no threatening or intimidating emotions or means in this meek country. His weakness was kindness and leniency which was what everyone could see within the man. Returning your head to its natural level, you looked away from him, instead gazing past him. You silently walked around him and headed towards the front steps to the house.

Keeping your head down, not permitting your eyes to wander, your feet climbed up the steps. It was until you made it to the front door did you look up. The doorway was fairly large and the door was made of a thick, dark and sculpted wood. It was also still wide open. Stepping inside, you took in the massive and eastern architecture and furniture, and you were only standing in the lobby of the house.

Directly in front of you was open space that lead to a giant staircase that traveled upstairs to God knows what. To your left, there was what appeared to be a living room. From what you could see, there were three couches, all of them arranged in a semi circle around the large fireplace. The walls had some paintings, but not many. A few credenzas were against some of these walls, supposedly containing a range of household items.

To the right was somewhat of another living room, but it didn't have as many furnishes as the other living room. But it wasn't vacant of life. Ivan was standing in that room, facing away from you, and he wasn't alone. You could see him chattering with someone in thick Russian. He was staring this person down, a boy who was just as tall as you. Messy, blond hair covered the top of his head and his eyes were a fretful blue. His expression was a forced exertion of happiness, however, his body language told a different story. This young person was frightened to his core. There was not a sign of welcome or buoyancy in his body. _"Please, go away. I don't want you to be in my presence."_ His figure said, trembling with every word.

Moments later, Toris walked through the entrance with the two suitcases. He placed them on the wood floor and straightened his posture as he rose back up. Hearing the thud of the luggage, Ivan glanced over his shoulder, thus ending the conversation with the young boy in front of him, who was more than pleased with the ended discussion. Ivan turned and started walking towards you and Toris.

"Thank you, Toris." Ivan said, smiling. Toris began to smile back, but quickly discarded the expression. "Now, take them upstairs. There is some business I must discuss with our new guest." Ivan said with a dark hint in his words, glancing down at you.

"Yes, sir." Toris responded, nodding without hesitation. He bent down and picked up the suitcases, passed Ivan and headed up the stairs. Ivan watched over his shoulder as Toris climbed the stairs. You could hear the young boy duck back into the living room, most likely not wanting to listen to the 'business' that Ivan had to discuss.

Holding a stern and unmoved expression, you stared at his boots, not desiring to let his speech or ruling tread into your ears. The last thing you wanted Ivan to do today was give you another warning or a parent-like scold. Gilbert was in the same building as you. 16 years has been long enough. You couldn't wait another second.

You felt Ivan's gloved hand gently grip your jaw and chin. He turned your face up to his. Stern was his face and that's all that it was. You couldn't do anything but return an indifferent appearance. He stared into you for several moments before he spoke. His voice was a low whisper, but a growl was present deep within his throat. "When we get back to Moscow, you will provide me with the utmost loyalty, daily. These visits will come with a price, one that will be payed in full."

You said nothing. Ivan's eyes narrowed and clenched his jaw. "Do I make myself cle-"

"Yes." You interrupted with daggers in your pupils. You wanted no more of this. All you wanted was to travel upstairs and face a phantom that you had not come into contact with for more than a decade. After studying you, Ivan eased his air and softened his image. "Anxious. I get it." Then, his hand removed itself from your chin and instead stroked your jaw and wandered to your hair. His fingers combed through the (h/l), (h/c) hair and slowly swiped down to the tips.

"Oh," He started, looking thoughtfully and slyly at you, "another thing I forgot to mention." Something didn't seem right about the way he said that. A cold knife sank deep into your spine, causing your heart to suddenly jolt. He couldn't have other plans for you.

"Since you and I will be staying in my home for a few weeks, I thought it would be just for me to give you a bit of homework." He said, taking off his hat.

Furrowing your brows with misunderstanding, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes. That smile of his only widened. "But I'll get into the details later. I know what you want right now." He turned on his heel. "Come on." He beckoned with his hand to the stairs.

You felt stuck in your boots, unable to move them. Your hand held onto the opposite arm, trying to comfort yourself in some way. There was something pestering you deep within your anxieties. How desperately you wanted to see Gilbert, to embrace him, to kiss him. But those serpent-like insecurities tethered you to the floor. You found yourself gazing down at the floor again, a troubled and frustrated look was placed upon your face. It was at this point that you didn't know whether to face your brother or not. He was either going to be ecstatic to see you or disappointed in your decision and foolishness. There was no in between.

Quick to notice that there were no footsteps following him, Ivan glanced over his shoulder and turned back around. He stood there for a second, considering your overall appearance. He could tell that you felt stuck, uncertain. The Russian could tell why. Then, that strange feeling of sympathy entered his mind again. His brows furrowed only faintly in a concerned shape, but he quickly drenched it with an indifferent manner.

Quietly ambling back over to you at a slow and cautious pace, he approached you. No movement came out of you, not even to look up at him. Deciding boldly, he took your free hand. Immediately, your eyes opened a bit in silent surprise. Part of you felt the urge to rip your hand out of his light grip, but the other half was fighting the inner request. That other half felt that there was no way you were going to get yourself to see Gilbert and, what was painfully admitting, Ivan was actually helping you to fight those insecurities. But there was always that lingering factor that he was only doing the action, because if you weren't going to see your brother, the trip was a pointless waste of time and work.

Ivan then started walking towards the stairs again, only this time, he was leading you by the hand. You did not tug on his now strengthened grip. Taking your other hand off of your opposite arm, your mind began to crumble with nervousness. Your stomach was a solid rock at this point, not finding the strength to calm itself down. Timidness swirled around your head. Would you be siblings just the same...?

Both you and Ivan made it to the top of the stairs and began to travel down the many hallways. Ivan continued to hold onto your hand, pulling you from behind him, leading you. In all honesty, the Russian felt like he was taking care of a child. A troublesome child that is. What he was doing was driving his mind to the fiery brink of scolding himself. Sure, if he didn't do something to make you move, there was no point in bringing you to his home in the first place. But he could have done it in a million different ways, not in such a way to where it was showing pity. And he knew quite well that it would make him look weak. But what was the most tormenting thing was that he didn't know why he did it. Again.

Glancing out of the corner of your eye every few minutes, you noticed the soldiers that stood at nearly every corner of the hallways. You counted seven so far. _Eight. Ten. Thirteen._ You stopped counting. Escaping wasn't going to be easy if you considered it, which was highly likely.

But before you thought about possible escape plans and complications, Ivan stopped dead in his tracks and so did you. You had to have been on one of the farthest sides of the manor, most likely the bedroom wing. Though it would be like Ivan to put Gilbert on one of the outermost and coldest sides of the massive home, a logical explanation or a personal theory.

Ivan let go of your hand and you allowed it to fall limp to your side. Ivan was focused on something. You couldn't help but follow his invisible line of sight. The Russian was staring at a door that was more near the middle of the hallway. Gilbert's room.

You heard Ivan sigh through his nose and he turned towards you. He caught you looking at the same door as he was. Taking that you knew where to go, he lazily gazed down at you with his silently aggravated, purple eyes. Moments flew by before he said anything. "Tell him I said hi." He murmured before walking past you, back the way he came. Watching as he went, you waited until he was gone.

You didn't want to turn around. You couldn't. Facing him was going to be impossible. The last thing you wanted was to receive a parental scolding, a shameful holler from your brother that painted you in the red dishonor. But at the same time, he was family. And Gilbert was one for acceptance. He knew that nobody had to go through the same exclusion that he had to endure. He knew what it was like and he couldn't possibly execute the same cruelty.

Turning around slowly, you hesitantly walked towards the door that caused you so much distress. Once you reached it, you were unsure whether to knock or just enter. Straightening yourself, you placed your hand on the doorknob, but you had the hardest time trying to twist it. Fighting the urge to let the knob go, you twisted it quickly and pushed the door open. There was no turning back now.

Trying to keep your breathing under control, you stepped into the room with your pulse thumping rapidly in your neck. Your heart flickered with shock and frisk when your eyes traveled through the room. There was a dangerously lanky man, just inches shorter than Ivan, standing in front of the window. His short, silver hair seemed to have shined in the light of the outside world just beyond the glass. He was wearing a white dress-shirt, dark blue pants, and what looked like black dress shoes. There was no doubt that this was your brother, especially with the words that erupted from his mouth.

"I take it that you're probably surprised that I'm still standing, huh, Braginski?" He muttered lowly with a growl in the pit of his throat. He was suspecting that it was Ivan who had entered his room. You said nothing, not sure what to respond with.

You wanted to surprise him, reply with a cunning and sly remark, but you didn't. Those damning factors lingered in your spinning mind. He tilted his head up. "Quiet today, are we?" Gilbert mocked. You could somehow feel him smirking. "I was presuming that you would mock me with your newest achievement, the one that you had planned for months."

"Hey, it was hard enough to get here as it is, but--," You couldn't hold in your sense of humor, your throat grew a lump as you spoke, "I think that's a little too much credit for me, don't you think?"

Gilbert whipped himself around after a moment. _His face..._ His red eyes were surrounded by dark circles of grey and purple, his cheeks were a bit sunken in. His skin was dreadfully pale, almost the same hue of snow on the ground. All of his facial features were much more pronounced. He did not look good. He had lost so much blood, so much muscle. He was no better than he was back in 1945. Gilbert was close to looking like a skeleton.

He stared at you, disbelief was emitting from his red eyes. His mouth was opened, but only slightly. His brows furrowed in shock. He blinked just once, checking to see if this was an illusion, if his mind was playing tricks on him, if it was just the lack of food and blood in his system. But this was no dream. You were there, in the flesh, in his room, standing before him. "(Y-y/n)..."

You stared back at him with soft, glassy eyes. Tears were gathering in your waterline, but you dared not to let them fall or river down your cheeks. One of your rare smiles crept to the corners of your mouth. And your heart nearly melted as Gilbert rushed to you. He threw his arms open and gathered you in his embrace, one that you had not felt in years. He had to bend down to do this. Gilbert said nothing and neither did you. You both just wanted to live in the moment. This was all you wanted right now. No words could describe it.

Minutes passed. You didn't count. Your pulse was too loud to overhear. Gilbert was crying silently and so were you. Hiding your face in his chest and he in the crook of you neck, you felt each other's hot breath glide over your skin. Your chest felt heavy and pressured. You were so happy, so relieve that you had finally been reunited with your brother. So blessed were you to see that he was still alive. Gilbert had such similar feelings, if not, heavier and deeper emotions than that of you. "Oh, thank you, God." Gilbert repeatedly whispered under his breath.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes, Gilbert took his face out of the crook of your neck. He straightened himself and peered down at his sister with the most thankful and overjoyed face. "Let me look at you." He murmured, grinning, showing his teeth as his eyes darted all over your face. You took your face out of hiding, looking up at your brother. A struggled smile was trembling on your lips. You let out a bit of a sobbed giggle, grinning now. Gilbert did the same, smiling that charming smirk of his.

"You've gotten taller." He chuckled through his tears. You couldn't help but let the salty seas within your eyes stream down your cheeks as you continued to smile back with a quivering chin. He bent down and kissed your forehead with you in his arms. Thank God that was the first thing he noticed. Gilbert still loved you and you loved him. You were just so thankful that time had not changed his thoughts about you. And very silently, deep within you, there was an admitted thanking. A person trapped far beneath your mind credited Ivan.


	20. The House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! Here's the twentieth chapter! I meant to update weeks ago, but school got in the way and some of my weekends have been taken up by school as well. After reading, don't forget to bookmark, leave kudos, or comment your thoughts and predictions! I can't tell you guys this enough, but thank you so much for the hits, kudos, comments, and the love! I really enjoy reading the commentary that I receive when I come home from school! I'm immediately going to start on the next chapter! Enjoy my longest chapter so far!

November 3rd, 1961 12:56 PM

Smiling wasn't something you normally did. In fact, it wasn't an expression that you let people see, especially not in this country or time period for that matter. There wasn't much of a purpose to grin or utter the faintest bit of pure enjoyment for 16 years. The miserable years were so dreary that you weren't even sure that you could emit such happiness or pleasure. But now you had a reason. Though you had this relieving diversion, you kept your secrecy about it, not really unfolding it to the other beings in the house besides Gilbert.

The warm and prickly feeling would scamper across your cheeks, turning them a fleshy pink tone, maybe even a scarlet red. It felt so alien to your face. It had not been touched by the rushing blood and modest heat for so long. It was such a shock to sense the gushing waves of intensity. You almost had to stop smiling and hugging your brother for a moment to let your brain tell you that it was alright.

The unbearable knot that snaked and wiggled around in your stomach was loosened, but not gone. There were your doubts, even after Gilbert had noticed the red star that was obviously over your heart. He didn't ask about it which troubled you somewhat. You guessed that he had to have already known about your surrender to the Union, but he probably didn't want to worry about it or dwell on the matter. The separation was to be temporary and as soon as it was over, you would take great pleasure into ripping the label off, leaving it in the dust and muck of the fallen, communist regime. Picturing the alluring fantasy was more than relieving.

But what you were more aware of and more stressed about was the treacherous and low doings of Ivan that one night. _Did Gilbert know about it?_ Was he treating the rape like the red star on your chest? Ignoring it, or was he going to bring it up and tell you that it was okay? That it wasn't something that you could stop? And if he didn't know about it, would you even do such a thing as to tell him? How would he react to that?

It wasn't until Gilbert let you go, allowing the both of you to contain another teary moment and instead replace it with a savory happiness. For nearly two hours there was non-stop talk, all of it was in German. There was no need to add in a single Russian slur or insult. Well, nor were you allowed to. Ivan had warned you before about the guards, that you were not permitted to gossip or talk behind his back. In other words, hold your tongue, do not speak your mind. You were free from Moscow's harsh restrictions on freedom of speech, but you were only transported to another prison. Only this time, there were more watchtowers.

The two hours were bliss and the two of you had taken the conversation from the middle of the room to the edge of the bed. They were dulcet talks of memories that were trapped within the mind for decades. Gilbert would usually chat with Toris about his precious recollections, all of which included you or Ludwig or both. But the albino couldn't help but to conclude the discussion briskly so that he didn't trail off. He didn't want to be seen as sorrowful about the separation, but he knew that the Lithuanian could take a guess. And now, Gilbert could let himself uncoil. Not entirely though. You, however, never permitted yourself to talk about such things with anyone. Especially Ivan. Never would you show a soft side to such a gruesome creature.

"Have you been keeping up with your languages?" Gilbert asked, raising an eyebrow with his head slightly cocked. Glancing down for a second, you searched for the words to respond with. "It seems I've been so busy training that-- I haven't found the time to practice. I mean," You sighed, "I can barely speak Kiku's language and I can get by with my Italian, French, and the others."

You didn't want Gilbert to be unhappy with you, that had not practiced your talents. But luckily, he wasn't a hard-ass like Roderich. Smiling, Gilbert chuckled a bit through his words. "Well, I'm just glad you remember our language. And one thing's for sure, I know that your Russian has improved greatly."

With your mouth frowning in a straight line, you rolled your eyes off to the side, shaking your head lightly. "Definitely..." You sometimes wished that you never learned the useful language, because it seemed that, at this point, it would never leave you.

What puzzled you was that Ivan spoke to you in German, not his native language. And only now did you realize this. It would make sense that he would make you speak Russian at all times, to him, to everyone. Ivan was doing everything he could to strip you of your culture, your roots. So why not try to eliminate your way of speaking? It would be possible to degrade that factor, making (country name) a Russian speaking nation thus influencing you and your people's way of life as you knew it.

Forgetting your own language is far off the charts from ever becoming a reality, but it wasn't impossible. And Ivan wasn't an idiot. He knew quite well that you would respond to him in your dialect of German no matter how many times he would speak to you in his own tongue. After spending nearly sixteen years with you, he had to have studied something about your functionality. After answering your own question, you left it at that.

"Oh, enough with these memories." You shooed the topic away with your hand with a gesture for a bothersome child. With a slow movement, you turned yourself more to your brother. You had to take your foot off of the opposite knee in order to turn. "What have you done here while I was away?"

Gilbert smirked and sighed as he spoke, glancing down for a moment. "Not much. Every once in a while, I would cut a deck of cards with that Latvian kid or straighten up this huge place, as if it could collect more dust! But I've spent most of the time resting in this damn room. I never thought I'd get out of bed and fucking walk again, but I guess I was wrong." He chuckled and briefly scratched his head.

You raised an eyebrow. "Surely Toris and the others had helped you, right?" You asked with some grave curiosity in your tone.

Gilbert shrugged lightly. "Yeah, they did what they could. Shit, you should have seen me when I first arrived here." He tittered, shaking his head. "Damn, I was such a mess. Barely any blood in my system. No sight. Christ, the fevers that I had..."

"Was that the worst part?" You asked, teasing him with a sneer. "Scheisse, (Y/n), who the hell do you think I am?" Gilbert laughed with genuine warmth in his eyes. "The worst part is that I had to live off of Toris's cooking. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me with it! I swear that man puts cabbage into everything he makes. Even the sausage that he has tastes like cabbage! I'd rather eat my own hand if he gave me another cabbage dish."

You chuckled shallowly in your throat. His humor had not faded. That made you happy. "I still can't believe you once lost to a sheep like him." Gilbert snorted a laugh. "Don't remind me."

Your (e/c) eyes softened. "Should I make you something in the kitchen then?"

"Please!" Gilbert exaggerated in a lower tone. A grin ripped across your mouth, showing your top row of milky teeth. A breathy laugh exhaled through your nose. Your brother couldn't help but snicker with you. However, you turned your face away from him and Gilbert watched as you covered your mouth with your hand.

He thought that it was odd that you were doing such a thing. You always allowed yourself to beam your smile at family members, even in front of Roderich. And now you didn't? What changed? Gilbert held in his laughter, reached out, and tenderly grasped your jaw. Without any resistance, you turned your face back towards his, taking your hand off of your mouth.

Your eyes were much more open and blossoming with youth and color. Your skin was much warmer in tone and temperature than it was an hour ago, and your brows were shaped into a carefree angle. The childlike grin that was tenderly soothing your lips from their years of frown and straightness. You legitimately appeared happy. Actually happy. Why wouldn't you let Gilbert see this sight?

You knew the answer. Sometimes there were days where you would think about the stupid things Gilbert would do. You would recall the time when he put ink into Roderich's tea, staining the unaware Austrian's teeth and tongue an indigo black color. It took him hours to figure out why his officials were staring at him. And other times, you would think about the mornings when Ludwig would be out in the front yard, training the two German Shepards how to wait, how to fetch on command, how to stride with confidence. How funny he looked... Such a soft-hearted person he was.

These memories brought a shy smile to your lips while you were away from your family. And you were an expert at changing your expression from a naive contentment to apathetically bored and cold. Ivan was never to see you at your most vulnerable state. If it was a murderous and low military trainer he wanted, then that was all he was going to get. Not some country that could show signs of weakness through memories of euphoria. That was a promise you desired to keep and never break.

And there was always going to be taunts and teasing of some sort that would derive from him if he were to ever catch a glimpse of a mere smirk on your face. _"What's so funny?"_ You thought he would ask, imagining his lilac eyes staring at you with a laughing suspicion. You hated picturing it... That was definitely why you felt strange while expressing that warm, fuzzy emotion to Gilbert. You had kept to yourself for too long. It would take some getting used to again.

Gilbert was staring at you with tired, yet ponderous eyes. They almost looked pained. The red irises were darting across your face, noticing all of your changed and unchanged features, trying to read you closely. He was thinking to himself. You could tell.

"You know, I-- I never thought I would live long enough to see you again." He finally said after placing together the right words. You furrowed your brows for a moment. "Don't talk like that. You and I are immortal. Of course you would live long enough to see me." You stated with sternness in your voice. It was dangerous for you brother to be saying something along those lines. It could only mean that he had deeper and darker thoughts like that beneath his skin and bone. Gilbert thought that you sounded just like Ludwig.

A brief laugh exited through the albino's nose after he looked away for a second, uneasily grinning. He took his hand off of your jaw and instead put it on your hand. "Looks like I taught my siblings well." He gazed back up at you. Your smile grew wider with his, but deep within you, you could tell he was sorrowful. It scared you.

"So what have you been up to in Moscow," Gilbert asked, changing the subject, "besides training?" Slowly, your face washed away some of the sun on your skin. This wasn't something you wanted to talk about, but you knew that your brother was going to want to know what happened to you while you were away.

You breathed a little before you began. "There isn't much to talk about. Training the army was what took up most of my time. Ivan made it a constant chore for me."

"I would imagine so." Gilbert replied, nodding with a faint chuckle as he spoke. "Hell, I don't know how you do it."

You cocked your head. "What do you mean?" Gilbert laughed through his nose. "Putting up with Braginski on a daily basis." His voice was hushed now. "16 years of him and I would have slit his throat in his sleep within the first month!"

"Yeah... The guy never stops smoking. I've almost gone blind to the smell." You had to reply after giving him a forced grin.

You paused for a minute and lowered your voice in case the guard down the hallway could hear you. You didn't want him to hear the negative description. "Any free time I would get got interrupted by Braginski."

You had to look away for a bit as you continued. It didn't feel good to look at your brother as you told him the information. You took your hand out from under his. "...He was constantly there. It was automatic for him to check up on me the minute I go out for the day and when I'm settling myself for the night. And..."

It was a sickening struggle for you to pass the knot in your throat. Gilbert had the right to know what Ivan would do to you on a nearly daily basis, not to mention all of the nights you had laid in the same bed as him. But at the same time, you didn't want him to know the horrific event that took place all those years ago. It would break his heart. And appearing weak was a characteristic you didn't want him to see. The scolding... Letting your guard down was not at all honorable. And you hated yourself for it. _It shouldn't have happened. Never._

About a minute passed and you had not went on with your words. You had stopped before you began your sentence. Then, in a tender voice, your brother spoke up like a soothing and comforting parent. "It's alright, (Y/n). I already know."

Jerking your head and widening your glassy eyes somewhat in surprise and fear, you stared back at him. Jittery feelings swirled and fluttered around your head and stomach. You furrowed your brows in confusion and worry, trying to read your brother's now sadly understanding face. How could he have known?

"Bastard told me when he first came here after you and I were separated." Gilbert whispered. There was no longer a smile on his face. Just a regretful frown that mirrored his thoughts on the nightmare of an event.

A nasty ball of hatred and fury expanded within your heart. _Ivan, you fuck!_  You wanted to scream after storming down the hallway, seeking out the Russian. You would rush at him and swipe at the back of his knees with a swift kick, knocking the stability out from under him. Then, you would proceed to swipe the front of your foot at his face as he tries to sit up. He would immediately come into contact with your powerful strike and find himself slammed back down to the hard floor. His nose would be bleeding profusely and his cracked lip would dribble with red as you continued to kick his head in.

However, that was just a sweet picture, not a dream come true. Oh, but you wanted it and you wanted it bad. He deserved it and you needed it. This was nearly the last straw. Humiliation was not something you were going to tolerate anymore. You had enough of the toying, the secrets, the teasing. The smiling devil shall not have the last laugh after this.

Gilbert sat closer to you after you returned your eyes to the floor. He knew you were about to break down. All he could do was comfort you and soothe you with his reassurance. He put an arm around your shoulder and you couldn't help but fall into his embrace as he pulled you into him. You put your face into his chest and placed your sprawled hands against it as well.

Hot tears finally flooded over your waterline and streaked down your cheeks. You held your breath to keep from sobbing aloud and a tight straining feeling ripped your throat. Gilbert gently rubbed your shoulders and back, closing his eyes in defeat. _Not (Y/n)... She didn't deserve this. None of it._ He thought, pitying you so. _And I couldn't do anything._

Gilbert felt that he didn't warrant any forgiveness from the men and women before him in the family line. Purgatory would be an eternity for him if he were to somehow die, but a part of him threw his body and soul to the flames of Hell. He hated himself, wishing that he could be chewed and spat out on a daily basis in the mouth of Satan himself. He would fling himself into the self punishment, to be watched by all of the fallen Nazi party members as he was to be ripped to shreds by the dark lord of Tophet.

Fritz would be furious with the albino and so would Germania. Everyone would be if he were to leave the earth. They would all agree that he was a mistake, a disgraceful man that had no right to ever recall himself as a nation. Gilbert knew that this self loathing was a hazardous drug in his system, but he didn't know how to drain it out of him if all of these occurrences kept happening to you and not him.

However, he had to be strong for you and push the self-pitying aside. He had one mission at this point and that was to keep you safe. Ivan may be stronger than the two of you at the moment, but Gilbert didn't care. He would unleash a plague, a fire, a wrath if the Russian were to hurt and ravish you ever again. He didn't know how long he would last if the communism got worse in his territory, but he would make every second worth while with you. He would die happy knowing that there was at least one person whom still loved him. And that was you and Ludwig.

"You-- You're not disappointed in me, are you?" You dared to ask, turning your head on Gilbert's chest. Your crying had ceased, but the tears lined your eyes. He opened his garnet eyes in a flutter. Your brother softly took you by both of your shoulders and took you off of his chest, causing you to look straight up at him. He stared back as his hands went to cup both of your cheeks.

"Of course I'm not. There was nothing that you could do." Gilbert reassured, his face getting closer to yours with a single nod of his head. "Never decimate yourself for something you couldn't prevent."

A single tear rolled out of your eye and Gilbert was quick to catch it and wipe it away with his thumb. "No matter what happens, I will always love you and I will always be there to protect you. And I know very well you will do the same for me."

Smiling somewhat, you fought the need to tear up again. Gilbert smiled back and kissed your forehead before placing his upon yours, gently rubbing it side to side. He meant all of it. Every single word. And he was absolutely right. "You know you still owe me a hundred packs of beer, right?" You teased.

Gilbert chuckled in his chest. "It's not over yet, (Y/n)."

 

 

November 3rd, 1961 8:10 PM

Dinner was silent and awkward. No other words could describe it. It started at 6:00 PM, before the sun dipped below the tree line. There was barely any talk. All that could be picked up by the ears in the dining room were the waves of marching boots that stormed past the tall window every few minutes and the clanking of forks and knives on the plates. The wind continued to dance through the air outside, bringing chill along with its howling symphony. The house would creak with the decreasing temperature. Immediately after dinner, Eduard stoked up the fire.

Gilbert wasn't kidding when he said that Toris puts cabbage into every supper. But it was only your first day there in the manor, so you couldn't make any presumptions yet. There was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you would have to get used to it again. You were a Germanic that had gone years without the familiar vegetable on your tongue. You would either grow to love it again or hate it the way Gilbert did. Potatoes weren't going to be acceptable for a while. You would miss it.

You sat next to Gilbert of course, which made you relax on the inside. But sitting directly across from you was the kid you had seen being tormented by Ivan when you stepped in the door of the large house. It was strange that he wouldn't speak for that long, half hour. Every few minutes, however, you would catch the Latvian staring at you. How curious. Gilbert had told you about him. He was younger than you and about as tall, only having the physical appearance of a 14 year old and the country age of 43 years. He smiled faintly, but fear gripped him every time Ivan would stir or move his arm.

From what you've heard from your brother, the Baltic liked to play cards with him while Ivan was away. He wasn't good at them, but he loved to play with them anyways. "He's not a bad kid. For the first couple of years, the little twerp wouldn't stop following me or staring at me, but I got used to him. He can't speak German, but he somehow understands what I mean when I talk to him. Reminds me a little of Ludwig when he was little, just more of a coward, that's all." Gilbert had said to you. His name was Raivis.

A part of you was actually glad that there was a younger person in the house. Before the war finally collapsed to a defying defeat, you loved children. Gilbert had passed this sort of gene onto you. Your older brother was an expert with kids. Ludwig, not so much. After raising your blond haired brother, Gilbert had to have learned how to love the youngsters of the world. Maybe it was because Germania hadn't spent time with him, teach him to have fun. Somehow, Gilbert found a way to spread his sympathy and fatherly characteristics to those who are new to the world. And that was something you applauded him for.

Surprisingly, not that many people knew that you carried this skill. There were times in the past, around the mid 1800's and the early 1900's, where you had gone to dinner parties with your brothers and family. And there were dozens upon hundreds of officials and their families in the expansive ballrooms. The adults, mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts, would stand around, talking amongst each other with glasses in their hands. Their minds would only focus on the alcohol on their tongues and the stories they shared and the fanciful music that would play, leaving the thoughts of their children in the backs of their heads.

Most of them would stand in the corners and behave themselves for the evening. Others would be as mischievous as to sneak over to the tables that served wine and snatch a few glasses, downing them as soon as they were under the table. Some would have the nerve to mess with the instruments of the musicians, toying with the violins, the fantastic piano, and mocking and copying the hot-headed composer. But when you or Gilbert entered the room, they would flock over, one by one, asking for a dance, a game, or a joke about the stuffy Austrian nation that would host the party.

Gilbert, by all means, would give the girls in their flowing gowns a flowery bow and gesture. "May I have this dance?" You would shake your head and roll your eyes at the performance he would put on for the giggling six year olds, who were too shy to take up the charming albino's offer. You however would look down at your side and find a young boy tugging at the hem of your thigh-length uniform.

"Frau Beilschmidt, I have no one to dance with. Could you join me to this song? It's my favorite." He would ask. You couldn't resist a plea like that. It would be a disappointment to him if you refused. "Why certainly." You would softly reply, beaming a comforting smile. And you would pick him up, resting him in one arm, hold his hand, and waltz him around what room you had.

Gilbert would take a break from socializing with the youngsters after an hour or two and speak with his closest officials, as well as his family members. Austria would periodically peer over at you, dancing with the young boys. He would glare and make a snobbish comment to Ludwig and Gilbert.

"I can't believe you would allow your sister to mingle with such delinquents." He would growl, having his arms crossed. Obviously taking your side, Gilbert made a just reply. "Lighten up, Roderich. She's only a few decades old. She needs to learn to have fun. She's still practically a kid."

"A teenager." The Austrian corrected, glaring with those stingy, violet eyes. Ludwig tsked, now annoyed with Roderich as well. "Oh, Roddie, don't start." Gilbert groaned, shaking his head.

"Don't call me that!" The Austrian snapped once more in a hushed volume. "Look. I've been very disappointed in the way that you've raised her. I mean, look at her. You must be mad to allow her to wear trousers, not to mention the way she sits. I forbid you to present such an image." Roderich whined, motioning his hand to point in your direction. "She is a lady. Not some 1 mark tramp."

Though the insult to his sister was more than rude in Gilbert's ears, he held onto his cunning smirk. "Well, at least no man would be able to lift her skirt then."

Then, Ludwig hopped in on the conversation. "Is that all that you pay attention to? Appearance?" He cocked his head to the side. He motioned his glass in your direction. "Look at her, Roderich." They all lifted their gazes to you. You were dancing with another boy of the age of 7 in your arms, smiling down at him with laughter in your eyes. "In her prime. If she weren't a country, she would be a fine mother."

How that heated conversation went on through the evening. Roderich didn't stand a chance against your backing brothers. You thanked them for such an action.

You didn't know much about Eduard. He was quiet, calm, collected, and didn't show as much fear for the Russian as Toris and Raivis did. He too didn't speak much, but he appeared as friendly and harmless. He was in charge of keeping the house warm and schooling Raivis. That was all. Toris, on the other hand, kept the place clean and cooked the everyday meals. Gilbert didn't do much besides help with the chores and keep Raivis entertained with a deck of cards or magic tricks. He wasn't strong enough to help cut wood with Eduard, but he didn't know if he even could execute the simple task, because he was forbidden to step outside.

Instead, he spent most of his days in his room resting or sitting in the living room, making simple and various sketches in the blank journals he would find. Afterwards, he would noticed that they would be tampered with. Gilbert had no doubt that the hawkish guards were checking to see if he was writing down his thoughts. When they saw that there was nothing harmful within the pages, they put them back in a different position.

Ivan sat next to Raivis for dinner. He didn't look up and nor did he have that irritating smile on his lips. Childish he was. Pouting like a toddler. He didn't wish to utter a word while the six of you sat at the lengthy table. You could take a guess why. Was he really going to make a fuss over the reunification? You and Gilbert were still prisoners under his ruling, not to mention the fact that he had absolute power over you and the east side of Berlin and Germany. Christ, he even had Hungary, Austria, Poland, and dozens more! What more could he want? It pissed you off greatly.

But after everyone had eaten, Ivan wished to see you in the hallway. Gilbert, giving you a cautious glare, sighed angrily through his nose and helped the Baltics put everything away, busying himself so that he wouldn't commit an act of violence. Obediently, you followed Ivan into the hallway. He looked down at you and said what he needed to say.

"Now that you've had time to settle, I would like you to meet me in my quarters at 8:30." He simply said without that infuriating leer. You raised a brow and narrowed your eyes. You shot him a suspicious look, giving Ivan the intention that he was hinting at fowl play. But Ivan then continued. "I want to confer with you on the details of your objective while you're here." Seeing that you got the memo, he turned and walked down the hall to an unknown destination.

Just like all of the other personal requests that had been made by Ivan, you did not trust it. It was sketchy and vigorously eccentric as normal. Only this time, it seemed that he wasn't going to be as happy-go-lucky and sadistically merry as he usually was when he asked to see you. This little discussion that he was to have with you was going to be much different than the others. That gripped your stomach.

Earlier, before dinner, Toris showed you your room, which was no where near Gilbert's. It wasn't even located on the same side of the manor either. It was much closer to Ivan's. _Go figure._ It seemed that the Baltics all had their rooms near your brother's. This was most likely because they had to watch him or hear him if he were to wake up in the middle of the night with sickness exploding out of his body.

You didn't take the time to unpack your things or notice every detail in your room, mostly because Toris had the supper ready. All that you had time to do was remove your long coat and set it on the bed. You left with him to the dining room downstairs. Now with it being a little after 8 o' clock, everyone was settling down for the night and you decided to go back to your room to do away with your things. But what you noticed as you and Toris headed up the stairs was that the soldiers were leaving their posts and stalking towards the door. They were all leaving the building. Dozens of them at a time, out into the cold night. Puzzled and left completely dumbfounded, you couldn't help speak up to the Lithuanian.

"...Toris?" You hesitantly said in a soft voice as you climbed up the stairs with him, wanting to be polite. Toris turned his head to you and hummed in acknowledgment. "Isn't the house supposed to be guarded at all times?" You asked in a hushed voice, furrowing your brows in shallow confusion, not sure if it was safe to speak. Toris smiled faintly and replied in a louder whisper. "Yes, but they only patrol the perimeter at night. There is no need for them to be inside once it is the evening. The men are too tired to go through standing for the entire day." He blinked in thought and nodded. "Nighttime is their break."

You glanced down, understanding, but then you had to look back up at the man. "But that doesn't exactly mean that we are free to do as we want." Toris said gravely with warning in his words. His green eyes possessed concerning worry. "I wouldn't try planning on escaping if I were you. Believe me..." And then he grew silent. You didn't press him. You knew what he meant. Then, the two of you parted for your rooms.

But while you steadily and quietly ambled down the hallways, you thought about what Toris had said. Of course you weren't going to listen to his advice. You would plan long and hard in order to get out of this place. You would try at least once. But it wasn't much of a shock to you that he had actually tried to escape. He failed, but he tried. He didn't exactly say it and it didn't seem like he wanted to open up and talk about it, but you took the hint. You were still a stranger to him and you had only known him for a few hours. However, he must have told Gilbert something while he was here. 16 years was quite enough time for the Baltic to sneak some information or the whole, secretive story to Gilbert.

What you wanted to know is how he attempted it, how he was caught, and what type of restrictions did he stand up against back then. You knew that when Toris tried to flee the manor there had to have been less guards, less obstacles, less fences. Was he just bad at running away? What stopped him? Did he leave Raivis and Eduard behind or did he bring them along with him? Were they in on the bail? You had to stop thinking about that. Mental preparations on how you would one day escape with Gilbert would have to be saved for a different day, but not scrapped.

 _Just focus on the now._ You thought as you drew near to your room. _Remember. Ivan wants to see you in a few minutes. Be prepared._

The bedroom was larger than the one that you were given back at the capitol. It had many basic and new features. There were two windows, both of them being fairly tall, but they didn't reach the wooden floor. Instead, they were part of a long windowsill seat that could also be used to store things. There was an expansive, burgundy-patterned rug that hugged the hardwood floor. The design of it was definitely eastern European.

The walls were a warm, tan color, almost like a wheat field. There was a rather bulky and detailed desk against one of the walls that contained blank paper, pens, ink, and empty books. Beside it was a bookshelf that held many dozens of novels and dictionaries. Then, there was the double bed that had its headboard against the wall, jutting out to the center of the room. Surprisingly, the air was cozy and not too suffocating with its heat.

You had put everything where it needed to go, hanging the shirts and sweaters and the long coat in the closet and placing the pants in the dresser. You didn't bother to take off your dark turtleneck or the tight fitting pants, but you did remove your boots. It pained your soles so badly, making the area sore and ache with stiffness. However, you left your socks on. The wooden floor seemed to be a stranger to the warm air, instead keeping its bitter coldness.

Glancing at the small clock that sat on the nightstand, you sighed and decided to head to Ivan's room. But just as you turned to leave, you stopped. Someone was standing in the door. Leaning against the door trim actually. Gilbert was propped against the door frame, his arms crossed lazily, his head fixed on you. His face was clearly and deadly serious, no foolishness or humor to be found. His ruby eyes, however, held great bundles of inner distress and restlessness, and especially worry.

You stared at him, waiting for a word to leave his mouth. Tilting his head forward, he finally spoke up in a cautious tone, taking his body off of the door frame. "What did he want?"

You approached Gilbert as you answered him in a simple voice. "He wants me to talk to him in private about this secret objective he has for me while I'm here."

Gilbert furrowed his brows. "What exactly do you mean by private?" He asked, this time sounding like a father questioning his child. You shook your head lightly, sharing the same negativity with him, giving him the indication that it wasn't something you wanted to do either. Of course you didn't.

"He wanted me to discuss it with him in his quarters." You murmured, annoyed with the order. Gilbert grunted in distaste, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them again. "I know..." You replied, agreeing with the reaction.

"I don't like this." He hissed after sighing under his breath. He then went into silence. He was thinking. You stayed quiet, not sure what to say. You didn't want to say that you had to go and you didn't want to face the Russian either. Originally, you wanted to go and lie down in bed and try to sleep until the morning. But it would be a mistake to do so. As much as you wanted to spend the time with Gilbert, you couldn't. Ivan would have your head if you didn't see him.

"(Y/n)." Gilbert said gently, but with carefulness in his tone. You looked him in the eye, obedient to listen to what he had to say. There was a long pause before he spoke, allowing the two of you to absorb the seriousness. "I know what you are capable of. I know quite well that you are able to handle Ivan's plagues. And you know that he can not be trusted. But..." He was stuck on his words.

"You don't want to see me get hurt." You stated for him. His face grew much more stern. "More than just that." He said, gripping both your arms slowly and tenderly like a father to a child. "I don't-- I don't want you to betray the person that you are."

You knew well what he meant by that. _Don't lose yourself._ And what better person had known that than Gilbert. He had lost himself to something he committed to, body and soul. And he couldn't get it back. Never. He had given himself up entirely to a propaganda, a failed ideology. His mind had been so poisoned and entranced by the power-hungriness that his heart had become blind.

When he had learned his wrongdoings, it was too late for him to turn himself around. And he didn't want that to happen to you. If you fully submerged yourself into the union, there was a possibility that you would be charged as guilty in another Nuremberg Trial. Only it would be under the Soviet Union if they fell apart from a fatal war.

And with you being their source of militarization, things didn't look good on your account. Even if you pleaded that you were a prisoner under the USSR, there was no hand to help you out of the situation. Just like with the Nuremberg Trials, _"following orders"_ didn't justify your innocence. As the years go on, your chances of turning up innocent were going to grow slim. But, really, you were already guilty.

"I understand." You replied, gazing deep into his eyes. Gilbert smiled faintly. It was almost sad. He then kissed your forehead and hugged you. You hugged back and felt him place his chin on the top of your head. You both stood there for several seconds before Gilbert let you go slowly. "Go now." He murmured. "The Ruski is waiting." Nodding, you left him and started for Ivan's room.

 

 

You hesitated before knocking on the wood of his door. Knock. Knock. Two light, soft knocks. That was all. After a few seconds of staring at your feet, you could hear movement on the other side. Footsteps drew closer to the door and the back of your head began to prickle with unease as you stood in the dark hallway. Gilbert was right. This was vague and not your ideal of a one on one conference. The way Ivan spoke to you, the manner in which he gestured with. It threw you off a bit.

Usually, he would wear that damn smile and talk in a carefree voice. But nowadays, he was becoming more serious with you. Could he not put up with your sternness or was he just tired of you, that you weren't fun to pick fun at? But all you could do was drain your face of all emotion and accept what he had to throw at you. It has been the only helpful thing for you to do. It's worked for quite some time.

The door opened and a gloomy, dim light shone through like a ray of dull, morning sun. It was quickly taken up by a tall object. You looked back up and saw Ivan standing there, holding the edge of the door with his large hand. Tilting your face up even more, you could see the same austere glare in his eyes. The grim purple seemed to have held some tiredness, but not much. His beige hair was in its wavy, messy state, but it looked like he needed a haircut soon. He was weary from the long day, a day that he did not want. It was now that he had this time, he had a perfect opportunity for revenge. All you had to do was wait.

He wasn't wearing his uniform. Even the white dress shirt that he casually wore after work wasn't on him. The only article of clothing that he kept was his scarf. The bastard never took it off. Instead, he wore a dark blue, long sleeve shirt and tan pants. His feet, however, were still consumed by his boots. Surprisingly, he gave a slight smirk, an attempt to mask his anger. "Didn't think you would actually come." He said with some tease in his voice. And the faint leer was gone.

Glancing down for a minute to keep yourself from snapping a cold remark, you gave a light nod. He stood aside, a gesture for you to come in. Hesitantly, you walked in with caution in your steps.

The room was cozy, but there was no blistering fire flickering in the empty fireplace. There was only one, genial lamp illuminating the entire room. It sat on the nightstand next to the large bed. There were twin windows on both sides of the bed, both of which were pitch black from the cold night and had white, transparent drapes over them. The walls were an almost light cream color. Damn, almost every wall in the house was this vanilla color.

The architecture, however, was much more pleasing to the eye. This was the master bedroom after all. There was beautiful sculpting on the fireplace mantle. It had a deep brown stain finish on the wood that matched the dressers, the floor, and the tall posts of the bed. There was a medium sized circular table near one of the corners of the room that had a clean ashtray placed on the glossy surface. Two armchairs were sitting around it. A couch was against one of the far walls and hanging above it was a painting, but you couldn't see what of at your angle. About a meter away from the fireplace was a bathroom. Standing a few feet way from the dresser was a large wardrobe.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you heard the door close behind you. You listened as Ivan walked past you and to the circular table. Only then did you allow your eyes to grudgingly look at him. He sat down in one of the armchairs, waiting on you to make a move. Achingly, you followed after him and sat in the other armchair, resting your foot on the opposite knee. Crossing your arms, you leaned your back against the chair, trying not to seem so tense. But you weren't very good at hiding your anger and your fuss for being in the room with him. It was obvious that he could tell that you didn't want to be here. You couldn't stop glaring, even at nothing.

"Have you settled in alright?" He asked, pitching the small talk to you. You stared at him with your eyes glaring, your brows were fixed into an apathetic shape. "Yeah." You curtly replied.

"I take it that you've met my other properties. Nyet?" He continued, smirking now. "Yeah."

He propped his head in his hand and stared at you now, seeing that you weren't exactly in the mood to talk. Picking fun at you wasn't something that could cheer him up. His expression went stern for several moments, giving you the intention that he understood your impatience. Then, he sighed with a chuckle under his breath. "I know. The task. I get it."

Interest immediately returned to your eyes, but you held onto your caution. The sooner he fed you the information, the sooner you could leave and go to your room. Maybe even sneak to Gilbert's room. You could only handle so much of Ivan. Staying with him for years was apparently not enough.

His face slowly seeped back into a severe expression. "I am quite content with the way you've built up my army. The skill level has definitely increased and the new militia technologies have been great successes by your scientists. The tzar bomb that we tested a few days ago was maybe one of the biggest to ever detonate on earth."

"Was it to your liking?" You asked in an indifferent tone. Ivan smiled sweetly. "Yes, actually. And I'd like to thank you for your part in the operation by lending me some of your best strategists and scientists for the operation. The Americans have been very tense with the event which is something I like to see."

"I'm sure it is." You murmured loud enough for him to hear. There was a pause. "But..." He started. Your ears perked up. You both stared at each other and you gave an irritated smirk, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "But you need more." You finished his sentence.

Ivan stretched his smile and his brows furrowed sadly as if you had offended him. "Don't make it sound like a bad thing, pet." The tips of your ears flared with heated annoyance. Your smirk vanished into a scowl.

"You see, I've been quite happy with your drilling. Truly, I am. And my men have benefited greatly with the steroid injections. But..." He took his head out of his hand and straightened himself, dropping the smile. "I would like there to be a change in what you've been teaching them."

You thought for a moment and found an answer. He's wanting you to advance your instructing, to make it much more deadly, much stronger. You knew exactly what he was asking for. "Just like with the testing and building of our nuclear weapons, I wish to progress our ground forces and agents."

He looked at you indignantly and leaned forward a bit. "I want you to organize much more innovated ways of drilling." You returned the same look. "You can't get smart with me, milaya. I know you have kept most of your military knowledge to yourself for all these years. And if there is something I've learned about you, it's that hiding isn't something you're good at."

You exhaled through your nose. "So what if I did?" You growled, irritated with the man. "So what if you did? Well, nearly two decades ago, you signed a treaty stating that you would vow to hand over all of yourself and whatever was useful to the union. So far, you have violated nearly all of the terms on that treaty." Ivan said in a snarky and snide tone.

"It's a fucking piece of paper. It holds no justification." You muttered sharply. "Really now?" Ivan said sounding sweetly frightening. A few moments passed. The time that was slipping by was almost unbearable. The angry gazing between the two of you was painful. You were the first one to break it by slowly glaring down, blinking lazily. You were in thought.

In a way, you were incorrect. Ivan was right. You had signed the treaty. You had surrendered yourself to a union that consumed every spec of freedom and spewed out toxic ideas and corruption. It was just a piece of paper that could be burned, ripped to pieces, lost in a colossal library of files. But it was bound in blood. And with Ivan being far older than you, he knew a thing or two about such agreements. Not to mention that Gilbert had suffered similar fates and losses. This was no different.

Realizing your mistake, you stood up, not wanting to look at Ivan anymore. Not for the rest of the night. Telling him that you had made an error in your statement was weak. Never did you want to admit that he was right. But he was going to get what he wanted.

You did not want to be seen as a hypocrite. "I'll get you all of the information you need by the end of tomorrow." You regrettably murmured as you turned, heading for the door.

But as you approached the door, you were quickly halted by some hurried footing. Quick to notice, you tried to turn around to take a stance. However, your arm was snatched and held in a strong grip. Ivan hoisted your arm up by the wrist, stretching it to where it would be hard to maneuver. Surprise and alertness sparked throughout your mind. You had to strike. Now.

Swiftly, you swung your other arm, aiming for his side. But it was immediately caught by Ivan's hand and held in place. It wouldn't budge when you struggled to wiggle it free. His grip only became more controlling. He lazily gazed down at you, appearing almost impatient with your actions.

"I'm not finished with you, yet." He said gently, towering over you. Panic pricked like thorns in your chest and head, your pulse throbbed in your neck. As you continued to tremble with struggle in his grasp, he shook you twice to make you stop. "Stop that." Ivan warned with a grunt in his throat.

"Let go of me, Ivan." You glared at him, spreading hazard over your command. But he didn't. Instead, he chuckled as if he were amused by your red flag. "Is that all you can do now? Threaten me? Tell me to stop?" He mocked with a gentle and low leer. You clenched your jaw and narrowed your eyes at him.

"If I remember correctly, the first time we met, you wouldn't let this sort of thing happen to you. In fact, you made me bleed for even uttering a word of my intentions for that white-haired rat." His mouth was a sickening smile, but his brows were dangerously wrathful. "I practically had to knock you unconscious to get this close to you without your damn hands to stop me. But now, suddenly, there's no need. You only further prove my point on why I need new material for my men. And do you know why that is?"

He slowly drew you closer with the stiff pulling of his hands. Your blood rushed through your heart. Oxygen was becoming more of a demand from your pressured lungs. Your brain couldn't handle the words that were spilling from his mouth. You couldn't sway them, because they were true. They were statements and questions that you did not want to answer or even allow to be brought up for that matter.

"It's because you're finally weak." He poisonously cooed. "So weak that I can harness you. So weak that I can push you around. Not even just that, pet. But I have taken so little and I plan to take so much more. And you know that. Don't you?"

Your (e/c) eyes were much more open now, almost fuming with surprise, disbelief, and vex. You didn't notice that your brows were fixed into a troublesome and slightly timid expression. Ivan gave you a soft look of satisfaction with a tender smile on his pale lips, almost a lazy and mild appearance. But you knew he was blossoming with contentment and smugness from within. He was just pleased that he had caught you off guard, both physically and mentally. But mostly mentally.

 

 

The hold was uncomfortable. Not painful, but uncomfortable. The higher your arm was raised, the more unbearable it became. You didn't struggle, or you at least tried not to. Your arm was no longer stretched out above your head, but behind you and bent to where your hand was inches away from the back of your neck. A strong hand kept a firm and stiff grip around your wrist, holding the arm in place. Your other hand, however, laid against the smooth and cold surface of the low dresser, keeping your head from pressing too hard against the wood. Your lower body was resting on the sharp edge of the wood and your feet couldn't touch or reach the floor. Pressure billowed profusely in that portion. Soon, the pressure would be doubled, if not tripled.

Sweet and slow was the stroking of a hand on the top of your head, an attempting comfort that produced only more diffident acid in your stomach. The fingers delicately traced through your (h/c) hair, calling upon the goosebumps that shuddered upon your covered skin every once in a while. The thumb was much more bold than that of the cold fingertips. It intrepidly rubbed in a small, deviant circle, providing little reassurance and a lot of distrust.

Your breathing was quiet, but your heart was not. The blood did not cease it's hot, raging rhythm as it pumping into the crucial organ. It was far too panicked to calm down. Your eyes were glaring and squinting, wanting to and not wanting to close. They couldn't decide which. But you did not desire to look up, instead keeping your face down.

The figure behind you took his precious time to unsettle you, using the affable and aberrant behavior to his advantage. You could feel his lower abdomen press against you, keeping you from slipping to the floor. The humiliation that Ivan was putting you through was anything but enjoyable. This maybe was the most degrading sentence he had given you, and you willingly permitted him to do this to spite for yourself. This would be your own lesson to yourself, to never let it happen again. That you would be ready and maybe less of a fool.

You tensed as the tenderly caressing hand left your head and placed itself on your side. The breathing was stressed and arduous for your lungs, desperate not to let out a shudder. The result was a cruel and dulcet coo from the Russian. "Nervous?"

You did not reply. You were too angry, too tired, too strained to even think. A silent sigh escaped your throat, decreasing the pressure in your lungs. His thumb rubbed side to side against your hip. He was growing impatient with every second. Sure, he wanted to terrify you before he began, but Ivan had the same uncontrollable desire he had all those years ago. He had to force himself to savor this kind of moment once again, even slower this time.

But his excitement was increasing with his every heartbeat. He was able to do this to you once before. He loved reminding himself of that night of pure relief. The heat, the rapture. It all felt so good to him. But this time was different. Much different. You would be conscious and able to actually witness and endure such a punishment. He would have the opportunity to listen to every whimper or tremble that uttered from you, to feel your intensity and panic on your breath and skin. But what he wanted to derive from you was fear. He was going to drive himself to the brink of exhaustion just bring that emotion out of you.

Ever so leisurely, he snaked his hand down the outer part of your thigh. This made you clench your jaw. The slightest movements that Ivan made on you made you want to shiver or faintly gasp, but you held the urges back the best you could. It became much harder as he continued.

The grip that he had on your wrist tightened as he advanced his other hand to your innermost part of your thigh. He was becoming so dangerously close to you. It was frightening. His hand then wandered up to the buttons of your pants. He tugged on them, got one undone, and then the second. Your head jolted down for a moment after a quick motion of Ivan's hand. He had peeled off the dark pants that you were wearing, letting them slide off of your legs and fall onto the floor. Your heart was in your throat, throbbing as if the vessel in your neck was about to burst into a bloody mess. It was only going to be a matter of seconds for him get what he wanted.

He didn't move at first, but then you felt fingertips glide across your bare skin on the back of your thigh. Then, there was a distinct grope on the area of flesh. His grip tugged gently, relaxed, and tugged again. He sighed. "You have to start eating more."

You furrowed your brows in irritation and shut your eyes, clenching your teeth together even harder. Smirking, he progressed his hand to your inner thigh. This move caught your attention and caused your head to faintly lift up in surprise. You tried to glare over your shoulder, but Ivan only stiffened his grip on your wrist, pulling it up higher to your neck. After you shuddered lightly at the reaction, Ivan was quick to notice and smiled down at you.

He kept his hand near your inner thigh, but he bent over you. He didn't exactly smother you with his large body, but he sort of placed himself on your back without crushing you. You could feel his pulsing erection in his pants against your backside. From what you could sense, it was rather large. His lips just brushed your ear. You could feel the upturned shape of his smile against the shell.

You were breathing uneasily, yet softly through your teeth now. His fingers had finally made their way to your entrance, slowly stroking it. Your toes were crinkling, an attempt to take your mind off the straining situation. It didn't. Nothing could. Everything that you tried did not help. Everything that you were enduring right now was too unnerving to ignore.

Ivan began to breathe heavily past your ear. His breath was hot, causing the hairs on your arms to stand up and sting your skin. Liquid started to leak out of you and onto Ivan's fingers, coating them with its clear and sticky texture. You weren't enjoying this. If you had the option, you would fight your way out of this and go to your quarters. But it was impossible for your body to not react to such actions. Shame was taking its toll as the pre-cum continued to leak out of you.

After a few minutes, he stopped teasing you and removed his hand from your entrance after taking himself off of your back. He was standing now and still had your wrist in his iron grip. You opened your eyes slightly. You knew exactly what Ivan was about to do next. And you didn't want it and yet you did.

Your ears perked up as you listened to the crinkling of fabric. Ivan had undone the buttons of his pants and pulled out his throbbing member. He didn't have the time or ability to undress his lower half completely. Just the opening of his pants was all he had to undo with his personal time frame. You froze in place as you felt Ivan press against you. His member was resting on the smalls of you back. It was large, and burning hot in temperature and it pulsed like a slow heart. You had never felt anything like it and it disturbed you.

A shivering person inside of you screamed for you to move, to run, to fight. It wanted you to get out and away from this man, this monstrous being that takes. It paraded you with images of you kicking the Russian away, of you twisting yourself around and striking him in the jaw with a swift fist. But no. You stayed put. Long ago, you asked for a retribution for yourself and for your own foolishness. And now you were going to get it.

"Have you ever done this before?" Ivan asked sincerely as he place his hand on your hip. "Should it matter?" You snapped lowly. He paused before answering back. "Just curious. You seem to be taking this so well." He murmured, slowly backing up. But he was much more intrigued by your response. He was interested.

Then, he had a perturbed thought. Maybe he wasn't the first to engage in such a heated moment with you. There could have been someone else, another country, another nation. It was possible. Ivan's heart almost sank when he wondered if it were a mortal. He was so obsessed with being the first to take your purity from you, that he glared upon the ponder of someone much more modest than him stealing the rarity. He wondered uneasily if there was anyone before him.

The answer was no, but you didn't want to tell him that. _Correction._ You never wanted to tell him that. Confessing that Ivan was the first being to ever enter you would be a mistake. It would give him a sense of pride and fulfillment. His vanity and arrogance would only grow stronger and more irritable.

Your body began to tense and your frail muscles flexed as you felt Ivan position himself. What made you the most apprehensive was the feeling of the tip of his member against your entrance. Your fists balled and Ivan saw this. Feeling the odd emotion of sympathy for you again, he gazed down at you with concern as you buried your face into your free arm, possibly biting into your sleeve to keep from whimpering or traitorously moaning. It was obvious that you were not looking forward to this, but you willingly and grudgingly agreed to it in the first place.

Carefully, he laid himself over you once again in the same position, not intending to crush you, but trying to provide some kind of comfort. He still did not let go of your other arm, but he slackened his grip on your wrist. With his head close to yours, he pressed his lips near the shell of your ear. Keeping your head down in the crook of your arm, you slightly trembled as he cooed one word, almost whispering. "Relax."

Delicately and slowly, he pushed himself inside. He progressed even slower when he heard the hushed and self-gagged mewls of discomfort from you. It was a strange feeling of fullness and pressure for you. Describing it wasn't easy. You just felt painfully bloated.

Ivan, too, couldn't hold in his own sounds of slight pain. He sighed sharply under his breath as he made it all the way in. But when he did, there was a definite, high cry of twinge from your throat and a twitch of a kick from one of your legs. He couldn't go any further. If he tried, a sharp, shooting cramp would tear through your lower abdomen. If he wasn't heedful, he could seriously hurt you. And he wouldn't want that after having you off of the training field for weeks.

The wet muscle was tight around his member, too tight. He wouldn't be able to move for a minute or two. The pain was almost unbearable, but it would fade away soon. He had to give you time to adjust and control your breathing.

A minute passed and the inhaling and exhaling of your lungs had reduced somewhat. The twinge was, for the most part, gone for both of you. Then, Ivan began to move. He pulled out halfway as steadily as he could and pushed back in at the same speed. He would start out slow and gradually quicken his pace. That's what he planned.

For the first couple of thrusts, you tightened your core to keep from moaning or releasing any sort of noise. You stopped biting down on your arm when the pain inside of you vanished, but it was replaced by a weird pleasure, another feeling that you couldn't describe. Heat fumed on your cheeks. You hated it. You were blushing from the sensation and you could not control it. It only caused you to bury your face deeper into the crook of your arm.

Ivan had bursts and waves of pleasure stroking his member as he thrusted harder into you. His body was coated with a light sweat. The handle that he had on you tightened and loosened with his every inward and outward movement. His breathing grew heavier in your ear. It only made the situation more humiliating for you. Your mind was transforming into a dense weight. There were shock waves of overwhelming heat and intense build up in your lower half. And you loathed it. You loathed it, because it felt good. You bit yourself harder. There were bound to be bruised teeth marks on your arm in the morning.

The Russian then picked up the pace and you guessed that he was finishing up, that he couldn't last much longer. Suddenly, there was a sensation of intensity in your lower regions. Not knowing what was happening, you began to fret. You thought it was a strained muscle or a tear from Ivan's movements. But the uncanny feeling kept increasing and the heat only did the same. Your toes crinkled as the sensation became more and more prominent. Even you started to sweat lightly.

And within a minute, the most anomalous and craziest feeling exploded within you. It caused you to tremble greatly under Ivan and sigh heavily with confused and unsettled brows. At first, your walls went numb and then an itchy and compressed shock of strain reach inside of you and spread throughout your vital regions. But it didn't stop there. You tightened and let go and repeated this pulse uncontrollably around Ivan's member. Your body did it on its own. This lustful and crushing indulgence did not just take a toll on you physically, but mentally as well.

Your mind swirled and collapsed on itself. A whitening and compelling hand of numbness crushed your temples and forehead. Though your eyes were squeezed shut, you could feel them twitch from the forcefulness of this bodily reaction. It was a heavy and lecherous emotion and it didn't leave you for several seconds. You couldn't count how many, but you guessed that it had to have been fifteen seconds. What you didn't notice was that you had softly whimpered and moaned aloud several times before dropping your head on its side. Your hair curtained half of your face. Your mind was that blank and disoriented. This was your climax.

Ivan felt this and grunted roughly at the clenching of your walls. He thrusted faster into you, desperate to finish while you still had your orgasm. Immediately, he felt his member harden and stiffen. He was moments away from finishing. He didn't feel as angry or as vengeful as his first liaison with you. He didn't really feel anything other than great smugness and lustful desire. No bad memories, no blaming, no hate. Just pure waves of heat and want.

But he was a bit questionable about why you had chose to go through with this. He knew that it had something to do with self punishment, but this was something you never let him do. For years, you rejected him and his sly moves. Having sex with him was the last thing he thought would ever cross your mind. And yet you did. All because you were starting to lack in reflexes and strength? Had he really been too harsh and frightening with the way he confronted you?

He was stripped from his thoughts as he felt his member pulse inside of you. A flood of relief and bliss fogged over his mind as he hit his climax. He grunted hard and nearly dropped all of his weight on you as his semen poured into you. He laid the side of his head on your shoulder. Minutes passed and neither of you moved. You both breathed heavily, taking deep breathes. Ivan took his hand off of your hip and petted your (h/l), (h/c) hair in an exhausted manor. You didn't care. You were completely wiped out from the new experience.

 

 

Midnight

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you couldn't bring your foot to the opposite knee. You were too tired to get into your signature sitting position. You were dressed again, wearing your dark, tight-fitted pants and warm socks. Only half an hour ago did the 'discussion' end and you were still breathing with labor. You didn't know how much longer it would take for your respiration to go back to normal. But you needed sleep soon and the slumber could help with your breathing situation.

You were still in Ivan's room. Earlier, you had agreed to leave once you had recovered from your climax. Evidently, you felt extremely dizzy when you tried to stand after having sex. Your entire head felt like it had been dipped in cement. It was so heavy. Ivan said that he didn't need you tripping and falling in the dark hallways. He then added that you might break something valuable.

You quietly gazed at him from where you were sitting. The Russian was laying on the same side of bed as you with one arm propped behind his head. His feet were directly behind you. An ignited cigarette rested between two of his fingers which he brought to his lips every minute. His scarf flowed over the side of the bed, dangling inches above the floor. It was wrapped loosely around his neck, but you still couldn't see any of it. He wasn't smiling and he wasn't frowning. Just a tired, straight face.

He quickly noticed that you were looking at him impassively. He halted his smoke for a moment. "What is it?" He asked casually, proceeding to put the cigarette up to his lips again. You hesitated, but went on to ask him the question anyways.

"Why do you smoke so goddamn much?" You murmured, furrowing your brows. Ivan exhaled the sooty air from his lungs and slowly smirked at you as the grey cloud dispersed in front of him. "It keeps me from drinking too much." He replied. You gave him an addled look. "I rarely see you drink."

He chuckled before he spoke. "The amount that I smoke compensates for the amount that I usually drink."

You raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it a bit odd for you to stop-- You know...?" You had to stop yourself from sounding stereotypical. But Ivan had a surprising reaction. He lightly shook his head and grinned, showing his teeth for once. He didn't appear as angry or offended. He almost looked like he was laughing.

"That's too funny." He tittered, coughing a laugh, choking on his smoke. There was a pause before he spoke again. "Well, you always refuse my offers to go out and down a shot. Only then would you change your mind about my habit."

You didn't know how to respond to a baffling reply like that. You could only shallowly nod and look forward, turning your head away from the Russian. There was an uncanny feeling in your chest. It was so unusual to be talking to Ivan in this sort of way. And for once, you weren't entirely annoyed with him. You still were. But not entirely.

There wasn't much emotion left in you. It had been a long day and your ability to loath for hours on the same person was well past its limit. Plus, he wasn't the being to be furious with. And though he held onto his usual, smiling, and irritating behavior, he seemed to have been less of an ass. It had to have been the hour. Everyone was tired and out of it at this time of night. All anyone would want was sleep.

On the smalls of your back, there was a nudge, a faint tap. You turned your head and glared at him, but then took notice of what he tapped you for. He held his small carton of cigarettes out to you, one of the little, white rolls was sticking out farther than the rest. He was offering you one.

You stared at it in thought and then you lifted your eyes to his face, trying to read him. His lips had the indistinct signs of a smirk and his eyes contained hints of tired mischief and a strange tenderness. What was this? You thought as moments of uncertainty passed. Your expression went from an irritated suspicion to a hesitant and indecisive puzzlement.

Seeing that you were ambivalent to his proposal, Ivan added a good helping of seriousness to his appearance. His smile slipped away and transformed into a stern line. He gestured the carton, raising his brows and staring at you with eager, purple eyes. It was as if he were saying, _"last chance"_ or _"I insist."_

Just like with his previous offers, you declined them. It was an insult in Russia to refuse a gift or a favor, which was one of the biggest reasons why you would turn him down in the first place. Over the years, you had grown to hate the addictive things. No matter where you went, there was always that smoky and sooty smell of cigarettes. And where there were cigarettes, Ivan was bound to be near. They reminded you too much of him.

But you had been years without an artificial reliever. Before the war ended and far before that, you would drink and you would smoke and it was rather enjoyable. It was especially amusing when either Ludwig or Gilbert were there to accompany you at a local pub. The foamy liquid and smoke would gather together strangers and family and lovers. But Ivan was none of those. You would be engaging in contentment with an enemy. More than just an enemy.

Glancing away for a moment in annoyance, you sighed through your nose and slipped the cigarette out of the carton. You held it with your fingers in your lap for a second, regaining the feeling and familiarity of having one in your possession while Ivan searched for the lighter. Placing it between your lips, you heard the flick of the lighter.

You turned yourself towards him and leaned forward as he held out the flame. The tip of the cigarette touched the small fire and immediately ignited. Once you had it going, you moved away from the lighter and returned to the position in which you sat. Ivan put the lighter and carton on the nightstand while you inhaled the smoke. The grey and drugging air streamed into your throat and down to your lungs.

Your chest felt heavy and full at first and a hot, scratchy feeling glided its fingers down your throat. But as soon as you took out the cigarette and exhaled, everything felt light. Stimulation was returned to your body and your mind was far less stressed and toxic than before. Your tiredness was decreased and the blood in your veins pumped much more profusely. You needed the hated reliever. All you had to focus on now was holding back the urges to cough from the scratchiness.

Minutes of silence passed. Ivan hadn't badgered you while you relished the rare enjoyment. He was too busy smoking and thinking. You didn't face him since you received the drug, so he kept a fixed stare on you. He studied you, taking a descriptive, mental note on how you appeared at the moment. Your (e/c) and dark circled eyes gazed down at the floor lazily. The purplish, smokey discoloration around your orbs made the color pop. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair was a bit messy, but it looked rather alluring to him, how the shade complimented your young complexion. He still couldn't get over how small you were compared to him and other countries. And now that you had lost weight to the sudden and recent event of the wall, you looked even smaller.

He had to admit, you were an attractive, young girl in both appearance and in character. Sometimes he couldn't help but throw a few glances at you every once in a while just to see how you looked that day. He would see what had changed and what didn't. Often he would admire your shape, allowing himself to get captured in your fetching aspect. He was glad he didn't get caught staring at you. He knew it would get him a nasty bruise on his lip.

How your personality was attractive was a mystery to Ivan. Sure, you didn't express or show any emotion other than blank, irritated, or apathetic, but there was something about your nature that was so intriguing. Ivan guessed that it was your determination and your secrecy that made him so attached to you though he hated the living daylights out of you. And it was no rumor that you hated him as well.

But he couldn't help but admire the way you made decisions, the sacrifices you made for your brothers no matter the opposition, or your ability to stand your ground. However, what was most prominent and stupefying to him was that no matter what he did to you, the punishment was bound to recoil on him, damaging him twice as bad. He didn't like the idea of giving you respect, in fact, he despised it. But he couldn't help but feel like he was starting to. He would have to find a way to prevent it if he were to ever become the strongest nation in the world.

You finished your cigarette and stood up, carefully walking over to the nightstand where the ashtray sat. You placed the cigarette butt into the small tray. As soon as you did this, Ivan spoke to you. "You should be okay to walk back now." He murmured, taking in another breath of smoke. You nodded once, turned, and began to leave, but you did this slowly. You were thinking. You then stopped in your tracks, only being near the corner of the bed.

This was probably the most damning thing you would ever do. The way it played out and sounded in your head was disloyal to everything you stood for. The promises that would be broken, the trust that would be lost by the ever-watching family in the clouds. Your stomach knotted as you lifted your gaze to the door that was patiently waiting for you to open it and then close behind you. You sighed and lowered your head in dishonor.

"I-" You hesitated as you turned to glance over your shoulder at the Slavic, "I want to thank you..." Your voice was a readable and soft murmur, and your tone sounded as if you were making a confession.

You both stared at each other for quite some time, but with different expressions, different tones in your eyes. Ivan blinked at first, bewildered by the words that dripped from your mouth. His eyes held confusion and slight startle as you looked back at him. Your orbs were stern, but another message, another meaning spilled from them. Your brows were in a submissive and avowing shape. Ivan was taking you seriously now. He couldn't smile smugly or make a leering comment. He didn't take his eyes off of you when you turned, walked to the door. Silently, you opened it and walked out, closing it behind you.

He knew that you weren't thanking him for the cigarette or the lustful doing. And you knew that he got the message. You made sure that he did before you ever left his room. You were thanking him for the event that he didn't want to ever happen. You thanked him for bringing you here, for leading you up the stairs to your brother's room, for allowing you the privacy with Gilbert that you didn't even ask for. You hated him and you credited him in such a yielding way.


	21. Thawing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH!! Hi, guys! Before you gut me, crucify me, and use my entrails to play piñata, I had to cut back on my typing days because of school (Don't worry. I'm passing, the work is just really time consuming.) And all throughout the time, I've thought about nothing but typing this chapter (there are many more to come.) I've had sooo many projects and SATs that I've had barely any time to type this chapter. BUT now it's here and I'm already starting on the next chapter. Tell me what you think in the comment section. Thank you for all of the love and support and I'm especially thankful for the hits, comments, and kudos! I can't express that enough! Enjoy! :D

November 4th, 1961    8:30 AM

The sketches and descriptions were extremely detailed. The depth of the structured paragraphs was specific, word upon word of explaining. A simple-headed child could understand the sentences. Each line followed the other, not once treading off the topic. They were all stacked upon each other, layering the medium. The sketches were but scribbles, yet, they were neatly and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Not to mention how effortless they were to envision. You honestly felt you were jotting down in a diary, coming up with ideas and spilling them onto paper. No gossip. Just information.

From midnight to nearly mid-morning, you had the tip of your pen glide across paper, left to right and up and down. Some of those movements were shaped by their own form of drawing. You took breaks when you could, especially when your eyes were too heavy and scorched with the need for sleep. The want was weighted, but not overpowering. Your capability to stay awake for hours was still in tact and you were glad that it never left your side.

You hadn't gone downstairs for coffee or breakfast even though you were ready to drop dead into bed and get some sleep. But you had to stay awake, for a little longer. You were just a few strokes away from finishing. Hopefully, Ivan would be pleased with your statistics and new ways of training. It annoyed you that you put actual effort into creating the damn information. It irritated you even more when you knew that you were going to be handing it over to him like some lapdog.

You stopped your pen and closed your eyes slowly, inhaling and then sighing through your nose. You wished that you could go back in time and change the event of the night before. You hated it. Hated to remember it. Hated living through it. Everything that happened last night was traitorous, low, and regretful. Nothing about last night was okay. If anything, it was a sin. If you could meet your past self, you would slap her, give her a good helping of sense. Erasing your memory of the sex, especially the climax. Everything. There was nothing to be proud of.

You didn't want to see Ivan today. Not today. Not after a recent and embarrassing incident like that. But you had to give him the information. But what made your head really fester was thinking that he would whisper such an action to Gilbert. Anything but that. It would be especially evil and vile of him to tell everyone at dinner or behind your back. He was like that.

You could imagine him lifting his head from his food, and smiling slyly, he would let the words leave his mouth and think nothing of it. Eduard would dart his eyes from him to you, the blue decreasing to a wide, shaken grey. His jaw would clench and his chest would strain to stop a jolting gasp. Toris would react in a similar way, but he would cup his hands over Raivis's head to protect the boy's precious virgin ears. Raivis, of course, would pick up some of the muffled words and in seconds his pale face would simmer into a pinkish red shade.

Gilbert, however, would sit there in confusion and swap out his focus on everyone in the room until Ivan spoke in German. Only then would Gilbert understand the shock. And that shock could turn into something else. Anything but happy for that matter. He knew of the everlasting mark that Ivan left on you, but giving him consent was something Gilbert was going to lift an eyebrow at. He would most likely question it and have a second opinion about what you had done. It would be an arduous challenge for him to look at you with the same amount of confidence and pride as before. But that was if and only if he found out.

Ivan wouldn't give a shit about how you felt. He never did and never would. He felt that way about everybody and you knew that better than the back of your hand. What made you any different from his past victims? Just more maintenance and surveillance and restraints, that's all. The longer you were with him, the more pessimistic you became. You continued to expect the worst to come out of the yield. You were able to reunify with your brother, but you were grateful towards the wrong person. And you flat out thanked him before you left his quarters. That was the biggest and most problematic thing that you ever wanted to take back.

Within seconds, you were finished scribbling down the last bits of detail. Your eyes briefly scanned over the pages for any mistakes. There were none. Plopping the papers and pen onto the desk, you sighed and slouched in your chair, letting your aching hands dangle at your side. You closed your eyes, giving your burning, sleep-deprived eyes the darkness that they deserved. The orbs watered and stung from the embrace of rest until the soothing hands of sleep began to caress them.

After resting for about five, long minutes, you rubbed your eyes, wiping away the sand that had gathered in the corners. You had to stay awake. You wanted to see Gilbert again. He was the only one you wanted to be around today. All you had to do was hand in the dozens of papers to Ivan and you could do what you desired. To be honest, you wished to just sit with him in his room and talk for hours. You didn't even remember to tell him about the Morse code that you tried to reach him with. How couldn't it have crossed your mind the day before? You guessed that it was because of how excited and happy you were. God, you couldn't even think straight yesterday.

Morning birds chirped outside in the vast field of the tall grass that surrounded the manor. The sky was starting to transition from orange and pink to the same blue sky that everyone knew. The sun was rising quickly and the clouds followed the night sky, retreating to the west. The wind was much more merciful than the day before. There was a light breeze from what you could see. The leaves on the trees that lingered near the house rustled very calmly. You almost hated how peaceful the aura was.

Slowly, you straightened yourself and stood up, pushing the chair out from under you. You wanted to get dressed for the day before you left the room. You casually walked to your closet and opened it, picking out a deep, maroon, long-sleeve top and another pair of the black pants that you normally wore. Taking off your sleeping top, you looked at the bite mark on your arm. The indention of your teeth were deep, but you didn't bleed. Black and blue blossomed around the area. Soon, the bruise would fade away. The regeneration of your body was becoming faster and stronger. And you were glad, because you didn't want to see it. It was just another reminder that you silently loathed. And the faster your body regenerated, the sooner you could be back on the training field, and the longer you could be away from Ivan.

You dressed quickly and pulled on your only pair of boots. Luckily, they were always comfortable to wear. Gathering the bundle of papers into your arm, you sighed. You wanted to get this over with. The sooner you submitted the work, the sooner you could be with Gilbert. You could only hope and pray that Ivan wouldn’t mention any of the events last night. Gilbert had to be unaware of it. You felt that it was right and wrong to keep the incident a secret. But you decided that it was for the best.

Wearily, you wandered over to your door, opened it, and stepped out of your room. Closing the door, you took notice of a soldier standing down the hallway at the very corner, hands placed behind his back. His body was not turned towards you. You only saw his side and he kept his hawkish gaze straight ahead, not moving at all. Your eyes couldn't help but drift to the miscellaneous handgun that sat in his holster.

The alluring weapon drew your attention the longer you stared at it. It would be so easy to just snatch it from the man, but the problem was you didn't have a plan. Hell, you didn't even know how you would get out of this place with Gilbert. And to try and break free so soon was dangerous and completely practical. It would be a mistake for you to make a move this early without seeking out the manor's strengths and weaknesses.  _ Patience. _ You thought, ripping your hungry gaze from the taunting gun.

Walking down the hallway and past the observant guard, you made your way to Ivan's room. Since it was closer to your room, it was wise of you to check there for Ivan first before heading down hallway after hallway and a flight of stairs only to find no Ivan.

The hallways were long and winding with soldiers at nearly every corner, keeping watch for anything suspicious or listening for secrecy. It angered you that there were so many. Ivan had overdone his security and surveillance now that you were in the house. Apparently, he had nearly tripled his supervision, making it almost impossible for anyone to set their lungs free. You had even gone as daring as to slightly glare at one of the men only to get no reaction. They did not move. It was as if they were mannequins or statues of a monument. They did not look real.

After turning around a corner, you saw that the door to his room was wide open. Hesitantly, you strode over to the doorway and peered inside.

The grand room was vacant. The bed was neatly made and the curtains were pulled back, allowing the morning rays to pour through the windows. Toris must have been here. Ivan would have never straightened up his room. He would always have it taken care of by a maid or, in this case, one of the Baltics.

Seeing that Ivan wasn't anywhere in his room, you turned yourself out of the doorway and down the hallway, heading to the living rooms that were near the front door. And if Ivan wasn't there, you were bound to bump into one of the Baltics and ask them about the location of the Russian. Someone had to know where he was in this gigantic house.

Taking your time, you walked down the many hallways and down the flight of stairs that lead to the living rooms and front door. Clutching the papers closer to your chest as you reached the bottom of the stairs, the low murmuring of voices reached your ears. It was a strange dialect of Russian, one that you could barely understand. It was either Eduard or Toris. The tones were much too deep to be Raivis's.

Not wanting to draw any attention or to spook anyone, you stepped softly and didn't move too quickly into the living room. At first glance, you could see that they were both sitting on opposite couches. Once you had entered the air of the room, Toris was brisk to dart his eyes to your entrance. Eduard had his back to you, but he turned his torso just enough for him to see you. A guard stood near the mellow fireplace with a rifle cradled in his arms. The low and humble conversation between the two Baltics had ended abruptly.

Their eyes contained alertness and acknowledgement, giving you the mental note that they were surprised by your sudden appearance. If there was one thing that you would learn about living here, was that Ivan wasn't going to be the only threat in the house.

A moment passed and Toris smiled as warmly as he could, straightening himself. "Good morning." He said. Even he spoke to you in German, which made you think. You supposed that it was the language you preferred or he must have picked it up from Ivan when he spoke with you. "Did you sleep okay?"

You nodded, lying. Toris smiled wider and blinked. "Well, Gilbert told me to tell you that he was going to be in the kitchen if I saw you." Toris said after taking in a deep breath.

You twitched a faint smile, happy that Gilbert was already up and ready to see you. But before you could sit down with your brother, you had to dispose of the information to Ivan. Gilbert would definitely question the papers that you kept on you. Swiftly, you glanced at the guard that took notice of your ponderous hesitance. He looked away as soon as he was caught. "Thank you, Toris. But I need to find Ivan first." You replied gently and tiredly. Toris blinked for a second and Eduard dubiously and slowly turned away from you.

"Oh." The Lithuanian replied, his smile disappearing for a second. You knew exactly why he reacted this way. No one wanted to search out the Russian, even for orders. But it could have been that Ivan was upset today. Maybe your gratitude for him last night struck a nerve in his brain, causing him to over think. "Um," Toris began, glancing away in thought before he stared back at you, "he's in his study at the moment. I don't think it would be a good idea to bother him." He cautioned, his green eyes flickering with his troubled smile. But you had to.

"He's expecting me. I was given specific orders." You insisted indifferently. Toris's brows furrowed with slight concern, but then sighed. "Well...alright then." He said, standing up and calmly walking over to you. Eduard pulled a book off of the table and cracked it open as he continued to sit on the couch. Clearly, he wanted to busy himself with something before he let himself personally think about your request.

"I don't believe I have given you an entire tour of the house yet. But I guess I could take care of that later." Toris said as he began to make his way down the hallway next to the staircase. You quickly followed after him and caught up to his pace.

The two of you walked in silence the rest of the way which pleased you greatly. You weren't a big fan of small talk. In fact, it annoyed you because of how pointless it was. Ivan nearly drove you insane with small talk and he knew its effects on you which he used to his advantage. _ What was there to talk about anyways? _

Once you and Toris turned a corner after traveling to one end of the manor, the Lithuanian halted in his tracks. You paused quickly, stopping at his side. You watched as he raised his hand, pointing at a closed entrance with double doors. "He'll be in there." Toris said softly, looking down at you.

You nodded, not making eye contact with him. You then took a few steps forward, but Toris quickly and cautiously grabbed your arm. With sudden shock and fluid motion, you stopped and snapped your head towards him, your expression flushed with surprise and irritability. He immediately let go of you and took a step back, meaning no harm.

He blinked at first and took a deep breath through his nose, seeing that he wasn't brutally punched by his stupid decision in halting you and gripping your arm. It only took a matter of seconds for his color to return to his skin. His heart must have been in his throat now. Softening your appearance, you let him speak gently after a moment of relief. "I would knock first."

And without saying another word, he turned and headed back the way he came. You actually wanted to chase after him and tell him you were sorry for reacting in such a way. But, though he didn't mean any harm, it was his own fault for grabbing you. He should have known better. He should have known that you were a deadly nation that was prone to executing victims violently and quietly without much of a mess.

Turning your attention to the tall, double doors, you sighed. It was only seconds until your feet kicked off the cement and headed to the study. Pressure pushed against your temples as you stopped in front of the door. Taking Toris's advise, you raised your fist slowly and knocked firmly. There was still the possibility that Ivan would be upset today and you weren't going to take any chances. But when was he not?

Seconds flew by. No answer. No  _ Come in _ or  _ You don't have to knock, pet. _ There was silence on the other side of the door. But the voiceless reply did not stop you from pressing forward. Whether Ivan was there or not, you would hand in the information. _ Just put it flat in the middle of his desk. He'll be a blind idiot not to see it. _ You thought as you grasped the doorknob and twisted it, pushing it open.

The door swung open slowly, revealing a grand study. The ceiling was high and decorated with plastered embroidery. The walls were tall, mahogany shelves containing many books, most of them were thick. A lifeless fireplace sat near one of the farthest walls. The floor was the same, polished wood like the rest of the manor's floor. There were two chairs in front of the large desk that faced you. Two towering windows stood on either side of the bulky desk. The study looked similar, if not, exactly the same as his office in the Kremlin. But something was missing. Ivan wasn't in the room.

_ Strange. Toris specifically said that he'd be in here. _ Shaking the thought out of your head, you continued onward into the room, approaching the desk. Gently, you set the papers down. You neatly straightened them in place to where they weren't crooked on the surface of the desk. _ Why even bother? _

Glaring at the papers, you quickly turned to leave. But as you took a few steps toward the door, a figure strode into the doorway. You halted your footing. Ivan entered the study with casual, yet hidden surprise. It almost appeared as hesitant. He was quick to smile down at you. He wore exactly what he wore last night. You guessed that he wasn't going to be attending to anything public or formal today, therefore, he didn't take the time in the morning to get dressed.

"Good morning." He cooed, taking a few steps toward you and then pausing in front of you. You replied a stern glare to him. He then looked straight past you, most likely peering at the papers you left on his desk. "I see you've kept your word about my request."

You nodded, retreating your eyes to the floor. You didn't plan on staying long.  _ Correction. _ You didn't plan on staying. Ivan walked briskly past you and around his desk. You could hear him pick up the papers and shuffle through them. You then thought that now was the time to leave. You couldn't stand being in the same room as him anymore. The sooner you left, the less time he would have to strike a pointless conversation. You started to the door. All you wanted to do now was go into the dining room and sit down with Gilbert.

"Wait just a second. Where are you going?" Ivan said gently, stopping you in your tracks. _ Fuck. _ You sighed a faint grunt of annoyance. "You told me I had to start eating more. Remember?" You murmured, scowling over your shoulder at the Russian.

Ivan looked down in thought at the papers that were in his hands. His eyes took brief glimpses at the amount of detail and description you jotted down. Chuckling and blinking slowly, Ivan set the information down on the desk. "Oh, I do. And it's a good idea for you to start now." He said softly, returning his line of sight to you.

Ivan didn't exactly appear as cocky as he usually was and it baffled you greatly. Something seemed off. He appeared to be somewhat confused, anxious. But by the sound of his wording, you knew he had more to say.

"Then, what is it?" You asked impatiently hissed, making it clear that you didn't want to talk for much longer. Ivan stared at you seriously for a moment like he was too troubled to emit his statement. He pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat down, sliding the papers over to him. He didn't look up at you, only limiting his sights on the sketches. "What was your reasoning behind thanking me last night?" He asked with a mocking curiosity.

You narrowed your eyes at him, apprehensively staring at him for a few long and quiet seconds. "Christ, Ivan!" You spat in a hushed grunt, glaring off to the side. As you were turning to storm out of the room, a voice kept you from progressing forward.

"Ah, ah, ah." Ivan tenderly commanded, lifting a finger from the stack of papers. "You are not allowed to leave until you have answered my question." You scowled over your shoulder at the Slav. He finally looked at you with an almost neutral smile.

"Why do I always have to justify myself to you? Can you not take a hint?" You growled blandly, turning yourself around to face him straight on. "I'm not getting an answer." Ivan said in a sing-song voice.

Silence ripped through the room. You refused to answer the question. You did not want to vindicate such an easy reply to your actions. But you didn't want to answer the simple query because of its elementary. You didn't desire to, because you knew he just wanted to hear you spill yourself; your reasoning. He wanted to see you bend.

He wanted to hear you say  _ If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to see Gil again. _ This gratitude was to be a fantasy for him to listen to; a symphony. It was something you forbid to let him have. But if you didn't speak up, there was not telling if he would let you go or not. Sighing internally, you finally opened your mouth, tucking your tail between your legs for once.

"You know why I thanked you." You mumbled under your breath, lowering your eyes.

For the limited time that he had, Ivan studied you carefully while you shifted your focus elsewhere. Your entire stature shrieked discontent and sturdy anxiousness. He knew exactly why you were refusing to answer him straight away. But he could tell you were beginning to thaw. He had to be careful with his wording or else you would leave.

He set the papers down, placed his head in his hand, and gave you his undivided attention. "I know. And you're probably thinking that I want to listen to your reasoning." He said, deciding to be completely honest with you. This made you look him in the eye, harshly. "I just want to make sure that I'm on the same page as you, because I could be wrong."

Holding the glare for a lengthy moment, you sighed, shaking your head. You surged the response he was looking for. "It was the reunification." You muttered, returning your glare once again. But this time, it contained an admitting recognition. It sounded similar to the confession that you had coughed up last night. And Ivan couldn't help but let a hint of solace slither out of him.

He blinked slowly and dropped his eyes to the papers. "Are you worried that I'll let this disclosure of yours slip out of my mouth?" He asked softly. You said nothing. He looked up at you again, noticing your steady timidness. "Well, if that's what you want, I won't say anything."

Furrowing your brows in suspicion and pique, you scowled. "What makes you think I'll trust you?"

Ivan gestured with his free hand. "Everything you did last night showed me that you have some sort of trust in me. I could have spoken with my lower colleagues about your exposure. Not to mention that I could have poured myself out to your brother just like I did before and you wouldn't have known. But I didn't, and I won't since you've given me what I wanted." He tapped the stack of papers.

It was hard to listen to him. Your brows were no longer harsh, but in a shape of uncertainty. And you let Ivan see this, yet, he did not smirk. He did, however, smile. But it wasn't a teasing leer. It was understanding, almost comforting. His eyes were a placid purple instead of consuming and compelling. You couldn't recall a time when Ivan would look at you this way, but it made your mind and stomach uneasy. You were actually taking him for his word.

"You may leave now if you like." He cooed, dismissing you as he busied himself to taking a pen and some documents out of his desk. "I'm sure you would want to."

Not exactly sure how to respond, you stood there for several seconds. Words came and went in your head, but you refused to say them, even if they were to be stuttered past your lips. You had no way of answering him. An I'm sorry would be a grave mistake to utter to him.

But something about the way you talked to him almost made you want to apologize. You began to question whether you were being too cold; too rude. To him?  _ No. _ Sighing quietly, you finally left the study and headed for the dining room in search of Gilbert.

  
  
  
  


Later that day  9:30 PM  The living room

Though the silly game that played out in front of you was anything but uneventful, you tried your best not to smile or laugh for that matter. But there was no use in attempting to cease your minor grin from sweeping across your lips. This made you cover the pink flesh with your fingers, trying to hide the sign of enjoyment. It was no secret that you were holding back your laughter. Everyone in the room could see that, but no one pointed it out. The only reason why you didn't go completely stone-faced was because Ivan was no where in the room and the guards had retreated to their outside quarters for the night. For once, you could let any emotion slip out of you without too much precaution.

Eduard, watching from the fireplace as he stoked the fire, grinned softly at the card game that highlighted the evening. His observant and steady eyes took a lazy pleasure in the childish sight. It was maybe one of the only times you had seen him smile since you entered the manor. Even Toris, whom tried to keep his occasional giggles quiet, couldn't stop beaming through his hand.

Gilbert fanned out his hand of cards as Raivis did the same. Both of them had five cards left in their palms, which meant that the game was wrapping up to a close as long as one of them didn't call out 'liar'. Neither one of them wanted to lose now when the tension was this high and the chances of winning was in either one of their grasps.

The goal of the game was to get rid of all the cards before anyone else by bluffing or being truthful. Each player would go accordingly to the number of the card and set it face down on the table, creating a pile. For example, if Raivis were to have an ace of spades, Gilbert had to put down however many 2s he had and say how many he had placed on the deck. But no one would really know if it were a 2 or not, which is why the power of bluff was so frustratingly tense in the game. Raivis could call him a 'liar', which would then mean that Gilbert would have to turn over the cards that he slapped down to see if they were correct or false. If they were not the right cards, Gilbert would have to take the entire pile of cards and continue playing. If they were the right cards, Raivis would have to take the stack and continue playing. An equivalent for Americans, the game was better known as 'Bullshit' or 'Cheat'.

Though Gilbert couldn't decipher a word of Russian, he could understand what the Latvian was putting down. That and he looked at the number of cards Raivis was placing on the stack. He would also have to keep track of the number that was to be played next. The same went for Raivis. He too could never undertake the alien and Germanic language that dashed through his ears for several years. Yet, they both could tell what the other was trying to confer.

"One 9." Gilbert hummed, laying a card face down onto the growing stack. A tempting smirk extended on his lips as his red eyes toyed slyly with Raivis. The Latvian, returning a naive smile, placed two cards face down. "Tri desyat'." Raivis said softly.  _ Three tens. _ He had two cards left now.

"Really now?" Gilbert responded skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Three tens is quite the hand."

"Are you calling him a liar, Gil?" You tittered quietly to Gilbert, informing him that it would be wise to let the deceit go when he was this close to winning. You brother looked up at you from where you leaned against the arm of the couch. He leered, chuckling, and then returned to the game.

"No." He replied, narrowing his goading eyes at his young opponent. Raivis masked his face with an unmovable innocence, but underneath, you could seek out the excitement of his bluff. It was radiating out of his blue eyes. Gilbert proceeded to scan through what cards he had left.

"I think he's got you this time." Eduard said after leaning the fire iron against the stone of the fireplace. "No. He doesn't." Gilbert chuckled once more before slapping down two cards. "Two Jacks." He had two cards left, both of which were queens; the cards that he needed to win the game.

Raivis looked at the pile. His eyes almost frowned, realizing that he had no way at winning. But he smiled a sigh, placing down the two cards that he had left on the pile, face down. He called out his hand. "Dva korolya." He murmured.  _ Two kings. _

Gilbert shook his head, laughing his uncanny titter. "Nice try, boy." He snickered, reaching for the two cards that the Latvian played. He took them between his fingers and flipped them both over. Gilbert's smile continued to shine on his face, but his eyes went wide in surprise when they fell upon the cards.  _ Two kings. _

The room erupted with an orchestra of laughter. Everyone couldn't contain their chortling as Gilbert sat there with dumbfound on his pale face. Even you couldn't help but laugh at your brother through your cupped hand, your eyes squeezing shut and taking yourself off the couch as the moment sank in. Raivis's smile stretched from ear to ear at his victorious feat.

"Damn." Gilbert finally said as the laughter died down to coughs and light giggling. He placed his cards down face up, showing that he too was a step away from winning the game. He couldn't help but chuckle at himself. "I thought I counted your hand right. But I guess not."

Raivis cracked his lips apart to show his teeth, grinning brightly with triumph in his eyes. Leaning forward on the couch, he put out his hand. "Khoroshaya igra." He said happily, proud of himself.  _ Good game. _

Gilbert looked at the boy's hand, deciding whether or not he should shake it and accept his loss to the youngster. After staring at the sportsmanlike gesture, Gilbert smirked and furrowed his brows provokingly. He reached and grasped the boy's hand and held it there, not shaking it just yet.

Just as Raivis was about to move his hand up and down to complete his victory, Gilbert held his hand in place, forbidding the motion to play out. Raivis gazed up at Gilbert to see that he was wickedly staring at him. The Prussian's eyes narrowed as he gripped Raivis's hand tightly. The boy's eyes then emitted a streak of panic and confusion.

With his other hand, Gilbert extended his arm and reached into the Latvian's sleeve, swiftly pulling out a good number of cards. Gilbert held the couple of cards between two fingers, showing them to Raivis who was now wide eyed with both excitement and inner dread. Toris cupped his mouth in shock before laughing out of surprise. You smiled a gasp and did the same. Eduard shook his head and had to turn away to hide his grin.

"What is this?" Gilbert said in a low, yet intriguing tone, loud enough for everyone to hear. He too was leering out of disbelief that Raivis had actually tried to cheat him, raising his brows with revelation. He continued to hold the boy's hand in place. "What is this?"

Raivis beamed a grin again like the usual child would do. He couldn't understand what Gilbert meant by  _ Was ist das? Was ist das? _ But it still made him release a mischievous titter. He giggled knowing that he had been caught and that he wouldn't get punished for such a petty scam.

"You think you're slick, don't you?" Gilbert mumbled, releasing Raivis from his grasp. He plopped the smuggled cards onto the table, leaning back into the couch in defeat. "Ah, Christ." He continued to smile though he sounded utterly discontent that he was cheated. Raivis started to clean up the cards and put them into an organized deck.

"Cheated. By a mere child." Gilbert gestured to the young country that sat opposite to him. Shifting over to your brother, you placed a hand on his shoulder in playful reassurance. "Wouldn't be the first time, Gil." You mumbled impishly, smiling down at him.

Rolling his garnet eyes at you, he shook his head. "That's different though. I usually let you win." He replied, recalling the time you had beat him at such games whether they were cards or wooden sword fights. "Oh, well."

Softening your (e/c) eyes, you sighed a content, breathy chuckle. You thought it was good that Gilbert was giving Raivis some sort of entertainment. It was definitely healthy for the two of them. It gave Raivis a real sense of enjoyment and playfulness; traits that a kid needed. And Gilbert needed the diversion, especially after the wall and the separation. When you and your brother were ruined in his room, you felt that Gilbert had experienced a gruesome plague of despair. That he would never see you again. That he would never feel you again. Not even remember you.

But now that the reunification became an actuality and Gilbert could see that you were okay, he could worry a little less about you and sleep alright at night without awakening from a depressing nightmare. However, it would only be a matter of time before his jovial vibe would become swallowed by the harsh stories of reality in East Berlin and (country name). You could only hope that he would stay as positive as possible until the walls came crashing down, marking the end of the iron curtain.

Your ears perked up as you heard heavy footsteps gently amble down the hallway. Turning your head to the direction of the hall, Ivan stepped into the living room. Immediately, all of the color vanished from the room. The buoyant aroma had disappeared from existence. The smirk on your lips dropped into a line of indifference as did Gilbert's, only he had more of a glower to his features. The Baltics, on the other hand, beamed their best, faked smiles when the Russian made his entrance.

As soon as he entered the room, you noticed a paper in his hand. From what you could see, it had been folded twice, meaning that it was a letter. Ivan quickly scanned the room seeing that everyone was in his presence. A tired smile stretched across his lips.

"I guess I missed something." He said raising a brow. After no response, he looked down at the paper that was in his possession. "I don't believe any of you have plans this upcoming Friday." He said in Russian after sighing.

"Not that we know of." Toris said, shaking his head, his smile decreasing. "Has something happened?"

Ivan flicked the paper, straightening it. "No." He hummed, his smirk wearily spreading. "On the tenth, I must attend a gathering. I was told by Khrushchev that the Baltics must be accounted for."

Toris blinked for a moment. "A gathering?"

Ivan nearly rolled his eyes with frustration, wishing the Lithuanian would cease his ever-questioning habit. "Yes, Toris. And you, Raivis, and Eduard are going to take part in this one. It would be much to my displeasure if you were to refuse Khrushchev's invitation."

You glanced down at Gilbert, who frowned with confusion, thinking that whatever Braginski had to say was insignificant to him; that it was confidential. Ivan then turned his attention towards you with the same, jaded smile.

"Khrushchev also wanted you to be present at this assembly as well." He said in German, allowing Gilbert to understand what he was conferring. Your brother faintly tsked in disapproval, shifting his attention anywhere the Russian wasn't. Raivis slowed his process of stacking his cards, nervously glancing out of the corner of his eyes to get a glimpse of the rigid conversation.

"Why me?" You asked blandly, not looking forward to whatever meeting he had planned. You thought that he would have learned something from the last conference. _ I guess not. _

"All union members must be there. And with you being our main source of the best advances, he said it to be right to have you present to receive appreciation from him in person." He replied in an upbeat tone, lowering the letter to his side. "You do like social events? Nyet?"

Narrowing your eyes, you furrowed your brows with suspicion. After staring at him for some time, you finally spoke. "What exactly is this 'gathering' you're attending?" You asked slowly, sounding bellicose and skeptical.

"A coming of winter party." Ivan said, making his way over to the fireplace. "I thought it would be nice for my associates to join me. I'll have to admit, it's been fairly uneventful around here, lately." Briskly, he folded the letter in his hands and tossed it into the fire, not needing the invitation anymore. The paper was licked by the flames and quickly caught fire, curling into a ball of blistering ash.

"You're the one that makes it uneventful." Gilbert mumbled lowly, scowling off to the side.

You almost wanted to cup his mouth for the comment. Gilbert was in no condition to get himself into a fight, especially with Ivan. Not to mention that warding off the Russian would be a struggle since you weren't fully recovered from the sudden wall. But at the same time, you wanted to applaud him for his defiant behavior towards Ivan. It was good that he was still robust to this towering man. He wanted Ivan to make an everlasting, mental note that he was going to be disobedient and discourteous to him for all of eternity. But, for now, you would have to worry internally. There was no stopping Gilbert from unleashing and spilling his thoughts. It was both dangerous and right of him to act that way.

Turning back to face the living room from the fireplace, Ivan darted his violet eyes towards Gilbert. Half of his face was illuminated by the flickering, orange fire and the other half was a shadow of spruce. His smile was fixed into a strong grin. But those purple eyes of his wavered morbid displeasure. You took it that he was still unhappy with the way Gilbert slithered out of his eerie clutches.

To your surprise, Ivan tilted his head up a bit, smiling wider. "Oh, don't fret, Gilbert. You weren't invited anyways." He said with sweet cruelty, striding away from the fireplace and towards the hallway. Gilbert snapped his head to the Russian, his brows irritatingly frowning. His red eyes almost pierced through Ivan's flesh.

“Oh? Why is that?” You raised an eyebrow, glaring at Ivan as you crossed your arms, leaning against the couch once again.

Pausing, Ivan looked over his shoulder. Instead of smiling, he was irritatedly frowning, ripping his mask of hidden vex off for you. His eyes seemed to have darkened in color, possibly from his tiredness. You began to question whether he had been drinking or not. He never got so openly upset for a laughable comment. Usually, he would smile it off until he was certain that his opponent was uncomfortable.

“Let it go, (Y/n).” Gilbert mumbled, putting a hand on your arm for a moment. His expression was as equally venomous as the Slav that stood just a few feet away from you. “If he doesn’t want me at this ‘Coming of Winter’ party, then so be it. Besides,” Gilbert shrugged his hands as he smirked mockingly, “it wouldn’t be as fun without me anyways.”

Appearing trapped, the Baltics held their stiff silence, unable to duck out of the room before things got ugly. To them, Gilbert was being a little too cocky with himself. The only reason he was doing this was because you were present. And with you standing in Ivan’s path to Gilbert, the Prussian could get away with any comment he so desired to hiss. Ivan would have to get past you in order to strain Gilbert’s windpipe. But you wouldn’t allow that to happen. It would be a bloody and pointless battle for him to commit the action.

Finally, after holding a stern and vile glare on your brother, Ivan released a vague leer. “Come to think of it, Gilbert, my union considered permitting you to join this celebration. Unfortunately for you, East Germany is not deemed as a moral guest. In fact,” The Russian purred, “they don’t even view you as a principled territory.”

You could feel the fiery heat fuming off of Gilbert from being just inches away from him. Even you had a boiling temperature in your bloodstream from the bleak statement. It didn’t surprise you that Ivan would say such demoralizing comments. Daunting victims was one of his main weapons, but it was a bit bold of him to talk like this to Gilbert when you were observing the situation. You had to do something to cut off Ivan’s taunts.

“Well, if that’s the case, Ivan,” You muttered, “then I’m not going.”

Ivan had to shift his focus towards you, his brows furrowed in displeasure. He almost had to sneer. “Oh, pet,” He murmured sweetly, talking to you as if you were a child, “let’s not fuss over this.”

“I am a part of the union, aren’t I?” You said, mimicking a similar complaint to Ivan’s objection to the allies in Berlin. “So, I can have my opinion and I can make my own decision on whether I can show up or not. If East Germany is really just an unprincipled territory, then I am no better.” You hissed noxiously.

Ivan was silent, but his stature screamed dissatisfaction and controlled rage. Your proposal made him anything but happy; only adding more wood to the fire of his discontent. He knew quite well that you were being entirely serious and that you would keep to your word. There was no way that he could push you to go to the gathering if Gilbert was not to come along. This was a fight he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t win.

The Slav then glanced at Gilbert with the same intensity while mentally considering his options. He had none. Finally, his gaze returned to you and he quietly sighed. “You will be responsible for him.” He grudgingly murmured. And as quick as he came, he turned and almost feebly left the living room. Not even the hallway made echos of his fading footsteps.

The fear and tension that had choked the room was slackened, but it wasn’t entirely gone. The Baltics were definitely enduring the most of that anxiety. Toris let out a sigh of relief and wearily sat down on the couch. Eduard pushed his glasses further up his nose and ran a hand through his blond hair, easing the panic in his mind. Raivis finished cleaning up the last of his cards, but his face was devoid of the warm, peachy blush of his childly happiness.

The living room was quiet for several minutes. No one talked until the clock on the fireplace mantel chimed out. 10 o’clock. Toris, quick to notice, turned his head towards the young country. “Raivis, go get ready for bed.” He softly commanded.

Without any hesitation, Raivis stumbled as stand up with the deck of cards in his hand and left the living room. You could hear his feet scamper up the stairs as they gradually faded. Now, the room was only inhabited by the adults.

Eduard shook his head before speaking. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He directed at Gilbert, his brows furrowed with disappointment and angered surprise. His arms were now crossed.

Gilbert glared back at Eduard, annoyance was strong with his expression. Before Gilbert could speak, you stepped in, taking to the question. “Don’t put this on him, Eduard.” You snapped, standing up for your brother. Eduard nearly shrunk in his stature to that of a mouse, holding his tongue. “I was the one that started it.”

“(Y/n),” Toris said quietly with brood in his eyes, “it’s not smart to quarrel with him, especially in the evening.”

Rolling your eyes, you grunted a sigh. “Toris. I’ve had to put up with him day and night for nearly two decades.” You narrowed your gaze on him. “I know how to negotiate with a brat like that.”

“(Y/n)!” Toris hushed you with a whisper, careful not to let the Russian that was possibly nearby hear your remark. That was not to Gilbert’s liking at all. He wasn’t going to let a Baltic scold you in front of him.

“Let her say what she wants, Toris!” Gilbert growled lowly, glaring at the Lithuanian with vengeful, red eyes. “If anyone’s been gagged for the longest time, it’s her. I wouldn’t take that freedom away from her.” Then, Gilbert stood up, continuing to keep his attention on Toris. “Also, she’s not wrong.”

Toris furrowed his brows, confused by Gilbert’s statement. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she just demonstrated it in front of us. In front of Ivan.” Gilbert smiled almost excitedly. He turned towards you to see that you had a bit of baffle in your features. You didn’t quite know what he entirely meant, but you could take a guess.  “It seems that you have power over him.”

In some way, Gilbert was correct. Many times in the past, you had made this realization. You recalled the time in Vienna when you had disturbed the world conference. Though you didn’t personally persuade Ivan’s decision to reunite you with your brother, you actions at the meeting caused Jones to look into your separation, thus technically gaining power over Ivan.

Also, Ivan had tended to you the morning after the Cell Wall was built. He had moved you to his room instead of leaving you in your quarters to be crawling with raptorial rats that would be bound to mutilate your body. He had taken care of you. He had sacrificed hours of work to get you back to better health.

But at the same time, you were at a disagreement with your brother. You didn’t want to believe that Ivan had tended to you out of a form of sympathy. You felt that he had no other emotion aimed towards you besides loathe, lust, and disdain. And the main reason why Ivan would agree to the reunification was to save his own skin from the threat of a nuclear war with NATO.

To say that you had power over Ivan was iffy, but it was beginning to become more prominent with every passing year. There was a definite sense of your dominance over his actions, but it wasn’t much. It would either be that you would hit him twice as hard or he would.

“What?” Eduard loudly whispered with perplex. “That’s impossible. There has to be another explanation as to why he allowed you to go.”

“Oh? Like what?” Gilbert smirked aggressively. “After all of the hundreds of years that I’ve spent fighting him, I don’t think he would want me at this fucking celebration. He knows that I’ll try to cause some kind of scene in front of that damn Khrushchev.”

Toris sighed. “It may be true, Gilbert, but he could have just not wanted to..,” Toris glanced at you for a moment, trying to be careful with his words, “bicker after working all day. He could change his mind in the morning.”

“Christ, you two!” Gilbert grunted as he turned away from them, frustrated with the Baltics. He then directed his attention towards you. His garnet irises were burning with tiredness and irritation compared to the dark circles that surrounded his eyes.  _ He needs to get to bed. _ It was too late for him to get worked up. There was no way he could alter the two sheep’s minds. They were too wrapped up in fear and realism that they could not possess possibilities. You pitied all of them. Gilbert, Toris, Eduard. It pained you to see the way that this Cold War ripped through everyone, creating ridges between relationships. You would only have to prove to them that you had capability over the man that imprisoned them.

  
  
  


November 10th, 1961    3:45 PM

The week was momentary, only seeming to last a few seconds. The time that had lapsed over your memory only consisted of sleep and conversations with Gilbert. Nothing more. The chilly atmosphere had only gotten worse and it continued to decline into a bitter bite. The seasonal snow hadn’t come yet, but it was bound to show up sometime soon. It was the perfect whether for the the little icy bodies to fall from the dark clouds. At night, the winds would groan past the windows and make the wood of the manor to creak. It was an informal message from the freezing gales.  _ Winter is on its way. _

Daily, Eduard would go outside and gather more and more firewood from the stack that he had made throughout the year. Keeping the house warm was an unsolvable problem that he faced when the coldest season came about. Gilbert had told you that no matter how much wood he cut, the pile would disappear before spring even emerged from the ground and the trees. This would result in Gilbert and the Baltics wearing extra layers of clothing in the house. You had put on your uniform for the day, a smart decision because of the thick, insulated fabric.

Gilbert had even told you that some of the winters had gotten so bad that they would get snowed-in overnight. By midday, the guards would have shoveled the snow out of the way of the entrance and presumed their duties at their posts. _ Not even on a snow day would they piss off. Not for one day. _

But as usual, Ivan would work as if it were a normal day, going through stack after stack of paperwork. He was never negatively moved by the cold. It actually made him happier and more unbearable. But he wouldn’t venture out of his study unless it was for meals, coffee, or if it was time for bed. He seemed to be rather busy, not that he never was. You thought it was possibly because he was making last minute changes to the winter celebration or that he occupying himself with the work that he had missed while you were healing.

This ‘Coming of Winter’ party that Khrushchev was holding was most suspicious to you. In fact, it didn’t feel least bit dubious when Ivan didn’t want Gilbert involved. It made you question if Ivan was trying to hide something from him that would bring further depression to East Germany. But then again, it could have been true that Slav didn’t want Gilbert to be present at the gathering because the officials didn’t view him as respectable.

Unfortunately, with all of the impractical allegations within your head, you could only wait and see if there really was any threat or surreptitious wrongdoings. Anything could happen in the next couple of hours.

Apparently, you, Gilbert, the Baltics, and Ivan weren’t the only countries to attend the celebration tonight. The two nations were to arrive at the manor within a few minutes, giving them just enough time for them to get ready for the party. Ivan’s sisters, Natalia and Katyusha, were to be present since they were a part of the union. Since you’ve never met the two women before, you didn’t know what to expect from them. You knew absolutely nothing about them or what they looked like, nor did you know their personalities. However, you did envision them to be taller than you.  _ Just about everyone was… _

Incredibly, Ivan left you alone for the entire week, even after the scuffle that you had with him concerning Gilbert. He didn’t speak with you about government related operations nor did he glance over at you during meals. You thought that he was probably ignoring you to keep himself from getting aggressive in front of everyone. And you were the one to expose his bendable weakness. Something he did not want anyone to see.

You took a sip of hot tea from your mug after erasing an error in your sketch. The black tea flowed over your tongue with its bittersweet tang, refreshing your mind. You had been dwelling in your room for nearly two hours, drawing and jotting down nothings. It wasn’t for work. Just pleasure.  _ What would the union use a picture of a tree for anyways…? _

You had spent most of the morning conversing with Gilbert which lightened your day. But by midday, he had to rest. It was a bit bothersome to you on how Gilbert was so damaged and weakened by the wall; that the devastation was so bad that he needed to stop what he was doing and sleep for extra hours. But you knew he needed the rest, so you left him alone for some time. You would have to wake him up in an hour or so to get him ready for the gathering.

Just as you touched the tip of the pencil to the tree sketch, there was a light knock on the door.  _ Knock. Knock.  _ Your head turned to the door with alertness. Sighing softly, you plopped the thin journal and pencil onto the surface of the desk. Arising from your chair, you ambled to the door. You could only make an educated guess at who it probably was. Gripping the doorknob, you twisted it, and opened the door.

_ Surprise. Surprise.  _ You thought, apathetically gazing up at a pair of amethyst eyes. Ivan stood in the doorway with his dark green uniform on and his hat sitting atop his beige hair. His scarf was wrapped neatly around his neck and the front of his attire was decorated with many more medals. Definitely to show off at the celebration.

He didn’t appear as vexed. He was actually smiling softly at you with lazy, purple eyes. This was his usual look when he came face to face with you. You thought that he probably wanted to forget about what happened last week; cover it up with fake emotion. But he knew that he couldn’t dissect it from your mind. You wouldn’t forget his weakness in front of his lower associates.

“What?” You grunted, making it clear that you didn’t wish to see him, not when you would have to go to a union gathering with him for several hours. Your hand still held onto the edge of the door, telling Ivan that you were going to keep the conversation short.

Ivan stared at you for a moment and then chuckled faintly through his bulbous nose. “I just wanted to give you something.” He said, motioning his arm lightly towards you. You glanced at it and saw something you didn’t notice on him when you opened the door. He held a black, folded article of clothing under his arm. You watched him carefully as he took it out from under his arm and held it out to you casually. Returning your attention to Ivan, you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

“What is it?” You said before you decided to take the questionable piece of clothing. Widening your eyes a bit and walking backwards cautiously, Ivan pressed forward into your room, inviting himself in. He had no warning. He just stepped in. It wasn’t until he was a good five feet into your room did he stop.

He continued to look down at you, his expression fixed into pure innocence. Little anger was emitting from him and it puzzled you, but you held your wits. Strangely, he wasn’t trying to be intimidating or threatening. You sensed nothing aggressive about him or his present character. He was just forward with his actions; not possessing any fear when stepping into your territory.

“Since you will be going to this gathering, I thought it would be a nice time to update your uniform.” He held the black article of clothing further out to you. Hesitantly, you took the uniform from his gloved hands. You looked down at it, noticing that it was just a top piece. It was much lighter than the trench coat you had worn for so many years.

“Apparently, trench coats are going out of style.” Ivan continued as you unfolded the uniform top, turning away from him. “So, I got you something a little more modern. I hope you like a bit of a change.”

You studied the top. It was much lighter in weight and much blacker than your trench coat, mostly because it had been faded from the years of wear. The long sleeves weren’t too fit and not too loose and the hem of the top was higher up, stopping at your thighs instead of your shins. The overall appearance was almost similar to Ivan’s uniform, but it had no decorations and the shape was much more feminine.

You felt oddly happy that you were receiving a new uniform. Your trench coat had gotten fairly worn out and the fabric was becoming weak. It was also becoming too heavy on you. Moving in it was getting more and more difficult with your deteriorated strength. You also perceived that you would be much more agile in the shorter hem, allowing you to move with ease and flexibility.

“Try it on.” Ivan purred, sounding only slightly encouraging. Turning your head towards him, you glared with deep irritation. “Not now.” You mumbled, folding the uniform back up and placing it on the bed.

Ivan hesitated at first, but then walked over to you calmly. He was definitely more comfortable and forward with you now that you admitted that you were feeble. He was acting a lot more confident and robust with his ways of approaching you.

With slight forcefulness, Ivan gripped you by the lapels of your coat and pulled you right in front of him. You held your breath as he shook you once, using it as a reminder not to move and not to get smart. Darting your eyes up to him, you clenched your teeth, noticing that his face was nearly straight like he was in thought.

Without indecision, Ivan moved his gloved hands down to the belt that was wrapped around your waist. He began to unbuckle it and slide it out of the belt loops. Swiftly, you placed your hands over Ivan’s, trying to cease their work. The tips of your ears fumed with heat.

“I can undress myself, Ivan.” You snapped vindictively, furrowing your brows with the utmost revulsion as you struggled with his grip. He smirked with an inactive leer. “Very well. But I’m not leaving until you’ve tried on what I got you.” And he let you go, stood back slowly, and crossed his arms.

You both stared at each other with different emotions within your eyes. Fire sizzled and snapped in your (e/c) irises, fuming with anger and detest. You couldn’t fight him and you knew he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted. Somewhere in the back of your head, a voice told you to get on with it.  _ Get it over with and he’ll leave. _

However, your stubbornness told you otherwise. It wanted you to deny him any more authority over you. Just like that night a week ago, you had exposed Ivan, showed off his weakness in front of everyone. This must be his revenge. But today, you weren’t in the mood to quarrel with him. You had enjoyed the wonderful time away from him and all you wanted was for him to leave as soon as possible.

Finally, you defeatingly sighed through your nose and turned to the folded uniform. You undid the belt that Ivan had already started on and slipped it out of the small loops. Placing it onto the bed, you began to unbutton your coat. You clenched your teeth harder together as your cheeks began to rise with heat. You mentally denied that you were blushing from the embarrassment that Ivan was watching you take off your coat.  _ You’re not even undressed underneath and he still wants to watch you. _

Once you had the buttons undone, you shrugged the coat off, peeling the sleeves off your arms. Beneath the coat, you still wore your black turtleneck with the tight-fitting neckline. You were thankful that Ivan didn’t give you an entirely new uniform. Then you would have to remove more clothing.

Throwing the weary trench coat onto the bed, you picked up the new uniform top and unfolded it. You opened it up and slid one arm through. Your arm fit perfectly. Compared to the loose trench coat, the size was much more fit for you. Then, you reached behind you, searching for the other sleeve hole. You struggled for a moment trying to find it, but then you felt a tall presence.

A hand gently placed itself on your side, giving you a bit of balance. There was a hoisting on the back of your uniform, bringing the sleeve hole up to your other hand. With a surprised jolt, you looked over your shoulder to see Ivan. He was helping you with your coat.

You didn’t say anything as he slid the sleeve over your arm. You looked away from him, feeling a bit awkward from his sudden assistance. But you were immediately turned around by his curiously tender hands. Taking you by the lapels at first, his gloved hands slid down to the buttons. Taking his precious time, he buttoned them with delicacy, careful not to miss one. You wanted to push his hand away and remind him that you could dress yourself, but you refrained from doing so. Sure, he was being ridiculous and pushy with his agenda, but he wasn’t doing anything to harm you.

Once he had finished with the last button, Ivan briefly let you go and stepped past you. He began to rummage through your trench coat until he found the metal, red star pin and unpinned it from the fabric. He turned to you once again and gripped your right lapel, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t struggle in his grasp as he affixed the star to the uniform front. He already broke his promise on allowing you to dress yourself.

Finally, he let you go after adjusting the star, making it perfectly noticeable. He then picked up your belt that you had laid on the bed and held it out to you. Thankfully, he was letting you finish the rest of your clothing. Taking the belt from him, Ivan stood back and crossed his arms to let you complete your last accessory of clothing. You carefully slipped the belt through the loops around the waist of your coat and fastened the buckle. The uniform was finished.

Not sure what to do next, you halfheartedly glared at Ivan who was still standing in the room. You hoped that he would leave within the next ten seconds. He uncrossed one of his arms and held out one finger, pointing it to the ground and briefly twirling it in a circle. His smile mellow and his eyes ogling with tease.  _ Give it a twirl. _

Your glare only intensified as you received his gesture.  _ Just do it and he’ll leave.  _ Rolling your eyes at his ridiculousness, you sluggishly spread your arms out, letting them droop slightly, and turned all the way around, slowly. You stopped once you had done a full one eighty.

Ivan’s smile grew. “I guess I chose the right style. It looks nice on you.” You studied his expression closely. His grin didn’t appear as a mocking manner. In fact, it looked happily pleased and complimentary, which was something that made your stomach churn in a strange way. And the tone that he used wasn’t exactly a coo or a tease, but actually appreciative. It made you distinctly in bewilderment blink for a moment before you glare back up at him again.

“Don’t get cute with me.” You murmured, deeply annoyed and slightly embarrassed by his possible flattery. The complement threw you off balance; tinkered with your head and stomach.

But your reply only made him pry further into you, wanting him gone even twice as much. “Why don’t you take a look in the mirror?” He pressed, gesturing to the large mirror on your dresser. You sighed and crossed your arms impatiently, blinking slowly.

“I can already imagine what it looks like on me.” You replied, hoping that it would get him off your back. He didn’t.

“I insist.” He said, tilting his head towards you, his eyes just peering out from the brim of his hat. You turned your head towards him, furrowing your brows with a querulous frown. Your eyes filled with a whining impatience like that of a child.  _ Do I have to? _

Ivan continued to stare at you straight faced for a few moments before he raised an eyebrow under his beige bangs. It was as if he were saying  _ “Well?” _

Losing all patience with him, you gave up, obeying him until he was away from your room. Exhaling through your nose, you looked away from him and headed towards the mirror, approaching it hesitantly. You paused in front of it to see an image that deeply affronted you and the people before you.

Over the years, you had avoided the mirrors that passed you by. Whether it was a bathroom mirror, the reflection on a window, or a hallway mirror, you didn’t want to see yourself. You would look in the mirror, yes, but you never looked at the person in it. You didn’t see yourself. Instead, you knew that you would only see a disappointment, a renegade. And that’s exactly what you saw today.

The uniform was precisely what you envisioned when you first studied it. The hem was much shorter, stopping at your mid-thighs. The double buttons that ran up the front were perfectly symmetrical and the overall fit of the uniform was just right and didn’t hug your curves too much. The belt that looped around your waist gave away the distinct, feminine shaped figure. The red star that was affixed over your heart was the damning characteristic, marking you as a union affiliate. You wanted to rip it off.

While staring at yourself for the longest time, your mind shot off red flags and self abhorrence. There was a certain pain in your head and stomach as you continued to gaze almost troublingly into the mirror. Pure betrayal is what you were witnessing. You saw what you had become over the many years and this was probably the first time you had seen yourself since the war. The last time you had actually looked at yourself was when you were adjusting the red cuff around your arm and the standard black official’s hat on the top of your head. And now, you were dressed in the attire of the enemy; the complete opposite of the propaganda you once affiliated with. The only thing you could do was wish you were neither one. But not even that helped.

Steadily, Ivan wandered over to you after taking note of your subtle reaction. He took the silent situation seriously and washed away his sneer with a stern and understanding frown, not wanting to pry you any further. He knew he got what he wanted, but he was afraid it was a little too much. His anomalous sympathy seeped through his childish cruelty of a psyche.

Heedfully, he halted right behind you and gently put a gloved hand on your shoulder, attempting to provide some comfort. You glanced at it and did nothing. “It’s a good change.” He said clemently, cocking his head modestly as he looked down at you.

You retreated your eyes to the floor, not sure if you should respond with a snarky remark. But with the receding confidence that you possessed, you couldn’t. “I guess…” You murmured with subdue in your tone.

That startled Ivan, causing his heart to nearly drop and his amethyst eyes to widen with concern. You actually sounded trounced; defeated. For a second, he wasn’t sure if you knew what you were saying. He stood there with you for a few more moments, hoping that you would realize what you said and take it back. But you didn’t. Ivan was so used to hearing a sharp-tongued reply from you after he derided you, but listening to an answer like that, he couldn’t help but fester himself with unease. Had he finally broken you?

Ivan now felt like you had given up fighting and striking back, that you had accepted the fact that you were now just a troubled, yet loyal affiliate to his objective. And though this should have brought him smugness and a victorious attitude, he secretly felt unnerved. He perceived the itch to caress your hair with the hand he placed on your shoulder. He wasn’t going to apologize, but oddly enough, he wanted to comfort you. Not play or toy with you or make an irritating gesture, but actually touch you with tenderness and altruism. Before he could ever execute the empathetic action, he heard a heavy door open downstairs and shut loudly.

A presence of voices shook Ivan out of his thoughts, causing him to dart his attention towards the door. The voices were both feminine and masculine. His sisters had arrived. Returning his lazy stare to you, he smiled and took his hand off your shoulder, walking towards the door.

“Come now. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He said as he ambled to the doorway. Watching him take the lead, you took one last look at the mirror, sighed quietly, and followed after him.


	22. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the delay :( I had to take summer school to get rid of a few classes for the next school year (which took up days of my time and I missed an entire week of sleep). BUT, I have completed the chapter and it is a whopping 25,000 words long! BTW, I am really grateful for all of the support! I love taking the time out of typing to look at all of the comments and the kudos that I receive daily! It really keeps me going :) Don't forget to leave kudos and comments, and share with friends!
> 
> P.S. This chapter is crucial!
> 
> P.P.S. A Russian smile isn't a smile. It's a cold, dead frown.

With uncertainty in your ponderous steps, you trailed just a short distance behind Ivan, heedful not to stumble over your own feet. You did not look up; only limiting your vision to the wooden floor and your sauntering boots. It was a strain for you to unwrap your mind around what you had seen in the mirror. The memory wasn’t worth your time to think about, but your thoughts could not escape its anxious and scuffling hand. The image darted from left to right in your head, but it wouldn’t processes clearly. Picturing the reflection made your stomach twist and your chest to become acidic. And though you desired desperately to rid it from your mind, it wouldn’t leave. Questions didn’t exactly flood and wave over your mind, but birds fluttered past your internal view of your thought process.

Ivan’s form of comfort didn’t aid your indecisive feelings much. In fact, you thought it made them worse. You felt his gloved hand on your shoulder and acknowledged it, but you didn’t take it as a condolence. It was a sly toying of his, one that he had barely acted upon you. The grasp that he had on you played with you, not knowing exactly what his intention was. You doubted that it was out of pure sympathy. It couldn’t have been. It made you want to laugh at the thought and yet it didn’t.

Dulcet and pleasant voices snatched you from your internal crisis as you and the Russian approached the stairs. “Be nice.” Ivan cooed in a whisper, giving you a serene warning. Lazily, you raised your (e/c) eyes to the edge of floor where the wooden planks touched the stairs. The area downstairs was coming into view. From what your sight was approaching, you saw the heads of two women. Both of them having blonde hair. Ivan was already climbing down the stairs in a relaxed manner.

You could see the two women turn their attention from Toris to Ivan as he made his way down to him. Now, you were headed down the stairs, taking after Ivan with hesitation. Their content expressions illuminated with even brighter and warmer smiles. There was no doubt that they were Ivan’s sisters. You knew their names, of course, but you weren’t sure which one was Katyusha and which one was Natalia.

The taller of the two sisters was a very busty woman standing just a few inches higher than the other. Her short, golden-blonde hair was radiating with mellow light compared to the navy blue band that she wore to keep her bangs in place. Her pale skin was pure and unmarked and her blue eyes added most of tenderness to her overall soft appearance. She wore a dark red tea length skirt and a white, long sleeve dress shirt that was tucked into her skirt. You faintly cocked your head at the long, brown boots reached up to her knees. You quickly studied them and noticed that the bottoms of the boots had signs of caked on mud. You thought it was a bit odd for her to wear such beaten up footwear since she was Ivan’s sister, but then you made the assumption that she could have been the nation of Ukraine; the breadbasket country of the Soviet Union.

The other woman was a bit harsher in appearance, but possessed a good helping of exuberance in her expressions. Her lengthy, straight hair was almost a platinum blonde, cascading down to her hips.  _ Jesus Christ, her hair was long!  _ A white band was wrapped tightly around her waist, adding shape to her long, flowy, navy blue dress. A matching cape was draped over her shoulders, protecting her fair skin from the cold. Her mien was full of gaiety from the sight of her brother, but her facial features were much more angular and sharply shaped than her sister. Her brows and her indigo eyes were much more keen and her jawline was anything but soft. Just by looking at her, you could tell she had a bit more spice in her personality. Taking a guess, you concluded that she was the country of Belarus.

Once Ivan made it to the bottom of the stairs, the busty woman merrily strode over to him, her blue eyes beaming with glee. “Ivan!” She exclaimed in Russian, throwing her arms around her brother. Ivan, returning the embrace, hunched over a little to meet the same height as his sister. After the brief and strong hug, they gave each other space, but they held each other’s arms. “It’s so good to see you.” She said sweetly, smiling brightly.

Ivan smiled back kindly. “It’s good to see you, too, Kat.” He said humbly, his violet eyes softening in shape. Then, he turned his head to his other sister, Natalia, who was almost waiting impatiently for her brother’s greeting. He and Katyusha parted, giving Natalia the opportunity to embrace him.

“Natalia.” Ivan simply said as they both grinned wider as they drew closer to each other. They both hugged, briefly squeezed each other, and then parted. You had reached the bottom of the stairs as they ended their hospitality. It wasn’t until Ivan acknowledgedly looked over his shoulder at you that the sisters noticed you. He took a step out of the way for his sisters to get a better look at you and some room for a possible greet.

Katyusha’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement when she laid her eyes upon you, but Natalia, not seeming to be too interested, turned and indistinctly conferred with Toris. Not sure how to appear, you put on a neutral and resolute expression, but you ended up looking a little more nervous and unsure than you wanted to. Tentatively, the Ukrainian woman took a step towards you, and then stopped to look back at Ivan. She faintly pointed to you.

“Is this her?” She said with fascination in her tone. Ivan glanced at her and allowed some laughter to enter his eyes as his smirk grew. “Yes.” He said quietly, nodding once.

Katyusha turned back to you, lowering her finger. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” She said and stepped up to you, getting dangerously close. The woman did tower over you, but not as much as Ivan did. Your brows furrowed slightly out of uncertainty and uncomfort. You didn’t want to strike out at her, but she was getting a little too far into your personal space. All you could do was stand there and try to keep perfectly calm.

Boldly, she reached down and slowly ran her maternal fingers through the hair that framed the side of your face. Her tender touch sent butterflies fluttering into your stomach. This particular touch was alien to you. In fact, you could not recall a single day in your life that you had been caressed by a woman. All you could sense from Katyusha’s character was that she was motherly, kind, but smothering. Her nurturing touch was something that you had never experienced since you were raised by men. Only so often would you see your cousin, Lilli, the country Liechtenstein. But not even she would carry an audacious trait like Katyusha.

Then, the Ukrainian’s thumb gently rubbed against your cheekbone. She smiled even wider after studying your face closely. Straightening her posture, she placed both her hands on your shoulders and cocked her head. “Goodness, you are a tiny thing.” She said with astonishment. You almost blushed at the valiant comment, not sure whether to take it as an insult or an embarrassing compliment.

She then took ahold of your wrists and your eyes widened as she spread your arms out, allowing her to step back and look at your figure. This finally made your cheeks blush with a light pink shade. You dared not to look in Ivan’s direction out of fear that you might see him staring at your reaction. But you knew that he was having a blast watching you get inspected by his sister.

Katyusha’s head cocked from side to side, taking note of every curve and measurement on your body. Her smile decreased the longer she looked. She hummed in disappointment once she was finished. “She has barely anything on her! Have you been feeding her?” She whispered loudly in disbelief as she let you go, slowly.

“She refuses to most of the time.” Ivan chuckled. Katyusha tsked and shook her head lightly. “Oh, nonsense. You just haven’t been trying hard enough.” She scorned and turned back to you.

“Have you enjoyed your stay with my brother?” She asked in Russian. _ She’s only speaking in that language. I don’t think his sisters know a word of German.  _ You glanced at Ivan who was watching your every physical reaction. He stared at you with a neutral smile, his eyes pushing you to say something.

“It’s doable I suppose.” You responded a little diffidently in the Slavic language. Katyusha giggled warmly and turned her head to face Ivan. “She’s honest.”

Ivan blinked slowly in agreement, widening an admitting smile. “Very I’m afraid.” He sighed before harshening his gaze on you. Though he knew that you would make a truthful answer, he was a bit nettled that you chose that reply. You subtly glared back at him, not wanting the Ukrainian to notice.

“Oh, where are my manners?” She said, scolding herself. “Forgive me for not introducing myself in the first place. My name’s Katyusha. I’m the country of Ukraine.”  _ I guess I was correct. _ Once again, she boldly took your hand with both of her hands. “Please, call me Kat.”

You stared at her, a bit shy from her kind and overwhelming personality. You nodded once, unable to find the most fitting words to say. Katyusha noticed your uncertainty and lowered her excitement to a comfortable level for you. She lidded her eyes and softened them to an understanding and mellow verve.

She lowered your hand and let you go, straightening herself back to her tall stature. Your eyes left her and steadily glanced towards the other sister, Natalia. She had her eyes on you as well, but in a more suspicious and scrutinizing way. Her indigo eyes were sharp and harsh on you. Untrust gripped her expression and kept her lips in a thin line. You didn’t exactly return the same, silent dislike to her, but you gave her a hawkish and dour look. Just like her judgement on you, you didn’t trust this Natalia woman.

“Well,” Ivan began, bringing everyone’s attention to him, “we should be leaving around 6 o’clock.” He then turned towards Katyusha and some concern furrowed into his brows. “I hope that’s enough time for you and Natalia to get ready. Or do you think you’ll need to take a little longer?”

Katyusha tittered out loud. “That’s plenty of time, Ivan.”

“Alright.” He replied, his face washed with relief. Then, he turned to you, adding a good helping of sternness to his attitude. “Go and wake your brother.” He commanded in German.

You acknowledged his instruction and turned, heading back up the stairs. You mentally thanked him for dismissing you to see Gilbert. It was an order that you willingly obeyed.

  
  
  
  


“Gilbert.”

His eyes snapped open as the whisper shot through the silence of his sleep and grabbed his lungs. He felt a hand lightly shake him on the arm, not wanting to startle him from his rest. However, the gentle murmur did. It sounded like you, but in a much younger tone, like a child. Just the sound of his name being whispered in a voice he once knew sent cold knives straight to his heart, jolting his torso. Turning to his waker, he lurched up into a sitting position. His red eyes came into contact with an alarmed face. It was you.

His heart was racing, but once he realized that it was really you and not some haunting nightmare, Gilbert relaxed himself. You appeared soft to him, but worry seeped through your features. He knew he had scared you more than you did him.

“I--It’s time to get ready.” You stuttered. Gilbert sighed and controlled his breathing. He rubbed his eye, squeezing them shut. “What time is it?” He asked in a groggy voice.

“About ten minutes after four.” You replied, taking your hand off of his arm and standing up straight. Gilbert coughed and then groaned, grunting with displeasure. “I know. It breaks my heart, too.” You sighed quietly with sarcasm, walking over to his dresser. “Braginski’s sisters just arrived.”

“His sisters?” Gilbert said as if he were trying to become familiar with who you were talking about. “Don’t they have huge ti-”

“Yes.” You interrupted before he spoke the crude word, but you were already grinning from his inane and immature boyness. You actually giggled aloud in a muffled gag. This made Gilbert smile. Yes, he was referring to the insanely large breasts on Katyusha and Natalia. But it was like Gilbert to make such a comment, and this boyish trait that he carried eased your worry on his personality and light. If he continued to keep up with his immature and lewd sense of humor, he would be alright.

Taking the folded uniform into your arms, you studied it carefully, unfolding it. The attire that Gilbert was given was the exact same as yours. Black, double buttons trailing from the neckline to the thighs, a belt hugging the waist, a pair of boots, and a black turtleneck and pants. Even he would have to wear the same red star that you bore over your heart. The reasoning for the difference in uniform for you and Gilbert was an annoyingly witty move of Khrushchev.

All Soviet officials, generals, lieutenants, officers, soldiers, and commanders, wore dark green uniforms with red additions. Even the Baltics would be wearing the same green shade. You and Gilbert, however, wore black, making it easy for people to single you out as  _ ‘The Germans’ _ of the party.

Irritating and maddening, yes. But it was also dangerous. Not only would the other union members know that you and Gilbert were German and the literal enemies of their communist regime, but there was no doubt that they would try and push you and your brother around. A brawl between an official and Gilbert was even a possibility. Since your face was more well known in the union and across Russia, Gilbert was not as illustrious, making him literal bait to a vengeful Russian officer. Wearing the uniforms was no different than wearing a target on your backs. All throughout the evening, you would have to be on guard, making sure that Gilbert doesn’t return home with a broken nose.

You ambled back over to him and laid out his clothes on the bed. As soon as you set the uniform down, you took notice to Gilbert. He was not longer rubbing his eyes or secretly smiling, but he sat there, hunched over with his hand against his forehead. It was hard to see his face, especially his eyes. Not a single noise uttered out of him. He was completely silent and scared you.

“Gil?” You began softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “Are you alright?” Gilbert shook his head and eventually took his hand off of his forehead, straightening himself. “Yeah. I’m alright.” He grumbled, his red eyes refusing to acknowledge you.

You shifted a bit closer to him, dipping your head to get his visual attention. “You know you don’t have to go if you’re not feeling up to it.” You said, trying to get him to respond.

But he didn’t. Not for several moments. The albino wasn’t fully there, mentally that is. He wasn’t even thinking or worrying about the party. What he had heard, the whisper that slipped from your mouth, was like that of one from a nightmare. It sounded so childlike; so young. He wasn’t even sure if it was you, that he was imagining that it was a much younger you. He thought his brain played back a memory of some kind. Praying that it wasn’t like the one he had a few months ago, he attempted to rinse out the internal incident. It actually enraged him that he was deciding to think about such a petty thing than your persuasion. He didn’t want you to worry.

Finally, he placed his eyes upon you. “No. I need to.” He stated quietly, seriousness deepening his tone. “You and I have to spit in the face of that fucking Slavic tonight, because I’ve been reaching out to all sorts of freedom all these years and this is my one night to finally touch it.”

You paused for a minute, considering what he said, and then nodded once. “As have I.” You agreed in a hushed tone, not wanting the guards to hear. “Well,” You started, standing up, “I’ll let you get dressed.”

“Okay.” He replied, looking up at you with his gleaming, red eyes and smiling teasingly. “I’ll meet you downstairs once I’m finished. Now, run along before you see too much of me. ” He sneered, shooing you away with the flicking of his wrist.

“Alright, Gil.” You comfily grinned back, rolling your eyes, and headed towards the door. “I’ll see you then.” You said once you were in the hallway, closing the door quietly. Letting go of the doorknob, you began to stride down the hall to wait patiently in the living room for Gilbert.

Once you had exited his room and shut the door, the albino’s smile vanished and drenched his face with a sorrowful remorse. His eyes slowly wandered to the clothing that you had put out for him. The scowl on his lips only deepened with more disapproval when he noticed the red star on the front.

He did not want to wear it. Never. He didn’t care if Braginski punch his face purple. He didn’t covet to swallow his pride and wear the symbol for the communists to maniacally chortle at. He had worked too hard to gain success for his country only to be personally and nationally deteriorated and ripped apart by derision from the Soviets. He knew that his country was failing greatly.

Citizens were dying of starvation. Innocent children playing football by the wall were shot dead. Countless women were being raped in their own homes by both Russian guards and traitorous East German soldiers who flipped their affiliation from fascist to communist. The secret police were jailing citizens for slipping minor words of free speech through their mouths and escape attempts.

Financially, the East Germans were suffering in poverty and could barely get by with the amount of money they worked for. But he knew if he did not stamp the red badge over his heart, it could possibly get not only him in a bloody mess of trouble, but you as well and it would only result in more depression and stricter laws in both his and your country. And he didn’t want that. It was already too pressuring and bad for the both of you. He didn’t want to make it any worse than it was now.

Oh, but he wanted to fight. His sharp and feisty attitude would never leave him. It brought him both victory and fatal error, but he never learned from it. He would never stop fighting until he was free; he would never stop until you were free. For now, however, he had to let this slide. For once, he was not going to let his ego get in the way of your safety. He could only swallow his vile medicine and hope that Ludwig was in a better situation than he was. Grunting under his breath, he threw the blankets off of him and decided to get ready.  _ Just get this fucking thing over with. (Y/n)’s waiting. _ And he angrily grabbed the black uniform.

  
  
  
  


You stopped in your tracks when you saw Toris emerge from around the corner. He was wearing a deep, green, Soviet uniform; one that was considered standard. He was already finished taking Natalia’s and Katyusha’s bags up to their rooms and somehow found the time to get dressed for the gathering.  _ Damn, he’s fast. _ He looked down the opposite end of the hall as if he were looking for something, and then he saw you. His expression immediately subsided from closely scanning to a casual relief.

He then approached you in a surprisingly calm way. His breathing was somewhat laboured, but he didn’t look anxious. He was just out of breath. You decided to meet him halfway. “Is something wrong?”

Toris smiled faintly. “Ah...No, nothing’s wrong.” He said, softening his image, giving you the intention that he was being truthful. “I was told to tell you-”

“That Ivan wants to see me.” You sarcastically said, indignation simmering in your face. “Let me guess. He’s in his study.” You pushed past Toris and began to head in the direction to the study, not caring what the guards thought of your tone. But Toris stopped you with a hesitant hum.

“Uh…” He started slowly. “Actually, it was Kat who wanted to see you.” You looked over your shoulder and stared back at him with confusion and piqued cynicism furrowed into your brows. Narrowing your eyes at him, you turned around fully and faced him.

“What?” You shook your head and blinked, now totally bewildered.  _ Why would she want to see me? Me? _ “Wait. Why?”

Toris shrugged lightly. “I’m not sure. They just told me to find you and tell you that they would like to see you once you were finished with your brother. They’re just down the hall from your room. I think you’ll be able to hear them.” He smiled with a bit of a giggle in his statement.

You blinked once more, not sure why he was in such a bubbly state. You knew he was a nervous, yet soft reck, but not usually this high-spirited. Then, yet again, you had only been living in the same house as him for a week. You nodded, accepting his message, hoping that the quest wouldn’t take too long.

“Come. I’ll take you to them.” He gestured to you as he began to walk the way he came and you stiffly strolled next to him, taking a strong grip on your suspicion. Conversation was absent between you and the Lithuanian. But you couldn’t help but notice how subtly radiant he was acting. He couldn’t cease his carefree smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Though he was acting a bit strange, you didn’t ask him why he was so...upbeat.

The closer and closer you journeyed to the sisters’ room, your ears could pick up their giggly voices. You and Toris passed up your room and headed to the end of the hallway. Their door was open and light poured out of the doorway compared to the dimly lit hallway. Glancing up at Toris, you could see his smile humbly widen as you both drew to the open door. It made you furrow your brows with even more speculation.

Finally, you and Toris had made it to the room. Toris stepped inside first and spoke to the two women in Russian. You had the feeling that that’s all you were going to be speaking around them.

“Well, here she is.” He announced happily, walking further into the room. Taking note of this, you figured he was going to stay instead of wandering off to take care of some chore. The bedroom was large, but not nearly as large as Ivan’s. Slow and swaying was the soft, Russian song that was playing from the radio by the dresser. It’s tune sounded like those of the 20s, giving the air a certain vibe. You secretly enjoyed it.

The walls were a light pink shade, almost like a rosey champagne color. There were two queen beds that were parallel to each other, both of their headboards were against the wall. Natalia and Katyusha both had their suitcases lying on them. There was one large window on the farthest wall with its white curtains drawn back and a window seat sat beneath it. The afternoon rays mellowly streamed through the glass.

You were immediately acknowledged by Katyusha. “Oh, good. Thank you, Toris.” She said delightedly, returning her focus to the bags that she was undoing, but that didn’t stop her from talking to you. “(Y/n), why don’t you come around over here.” She instructed, flailing one hand to the side of her, a girly gesture.

As you slowly traipsed over to the spot in which Kat pointed out, you momentarily glanced at Natalia, who was laying on her side on the chesterfield couch that was against the wall. She was paying no attention to you and, instead, was smirking intriguingly up at Toris. The Lithuanian and Belarusian were already engaging in an unintelligible conversation. Toris was passionately smiling with her and she playfully giggled when he supposedly said something amusing.

You were certain that there was some kind of fondness between the two. Just the way Toris was looking at her, you could see that he had some sort of liking towards her. His body language told most of the story. He was fidgeting with the hem of his uniform with his fingers and his green eyes were so fixed on the woman. And though Natalia didn’t have the same strength of warmth towards him, it was still very intense. You were positively sure that there was affection involved, but you could have been wrong. You weren’t going to assume anything just yet, but she may have been the reason why Toris was so bright today.

“Go ahead and take a seat by the window.” Kat said tenderly, rummaging through a small purse. Hesitantly, you sat down on the window seat, laying your foot on the opposite knee and crossing your arms, not knowing what to do with them.

“So, (Y/n),” She started with her back towards you as she continued to search and pull things from her bag, “how long have you been here?”

“About a week.” You replied neutrally. “Only a week? I thought Ivan had brought you here earlier.” She said in an astounded voice.

“I’m afraid not.” You said quietly, turning your gaze towards the window, looking outside at the cold and windy world. She tsked for a moment.

“Oh, well. At least you’re here now. It was nice of my brother to give you some time off to be with your brother. Um. What’s his name again? Gilbert?” She asked, getting a small glimpse of you before returning to her scavenging.

“Yes.” You replied.

“Oh, good. I was afraid that I would get it wrong.” She said, relieved. “You know, I’ve only met him once before. Oh, but that was such a long time ago. And I vaguely remember what he was asking me for on that day. He was quite robust in personality, no offense,” She said humbly, “but he was very admirable in appearance. I sure hope that he still has those red eyes of his. I couldn’t forget them.”

“H-- He does.” You responded, turning your attention back to her, not sure how to digest her sentences. “Wonderful!” She beamed, looking over her shoulder at you. Then, you saw her narrow her eyes at you; your legs that is. Her smile only grew in surprise and she gasped quietly.

“So it is true!” She softly exclaimed, keeping her astonishment at a controllable level. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I’m sorry?” You asked, a bit puzzled.

“Ivan always tells me that you sit in the strangest way. And it’s true!” She giggled. “He told me that you always sit with one foot over your knee.”

You relaxed your expression, realizing what she was so intrigued about, but you held an irritated curiosity in your mind. It was becoming more and more prominent by the second. “Did he?” You said with irked interest in your tone. You cocked your head slightly. “Katyusha?”

“Kat.” Katyusha corrected in a motherly timbre, insisting that you call her the name that she prefered you use.

“Kat?” You restarted dubiously. “What-- has Ivan told you about me exactly?” You asked slowly and inquisitively. Trying not to pry too saliently, you wanted to know how much information he poured out to his sister, hopeful that he didn’t get too personal.

“Oh, many things. He tells me that you’ve improved his military greatly. And he told me that you’ve given him opportunities with his nuclear field.” She tittered. “I have contributed a good amount of my land to that genre myself. Ah, but I mostly provide his economy with farmland and goods. But anything helps, really. I sometimes wish I could do more.”

She began to giggle once more as she looked over her shoulder. “Forgive me for my outbursts. Ivan always told me you were small, but you are just the tiniest thing I have ever seen. And so sufficient!” You blushed and glanced to the side for a moment, wondering if she was being passive aggressive. This mother-like personality that she had was so baffling to you.

Finally, she turned around with the handheld purse in her grasp. Apparently, she had put makeup on her face while you were busy attending to Gilbert. A simple, peachy lipstick had been applied to her lips and her blue eyes were defined with a dark liner. “Now,” She said as she approached you, “let’s do something about those eyes.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes widened as she got frighteningly close. She was referring to the discoloration around your eyes. The darkness and purple hue around your eye sockets was fading away since you had slept profusely over the course of the week. However, despite your gain in slumber, your sleep schedule was a mess. You would be sleeping from 8 o'clock in the morning to 4 o'clock in the afternoon only to be active from then until whenever.

“M-- My eyes? Are you sure?” You said, making it sound like a warning. Kat only continued to grin.

“Of course! Trust me, you’ll want to look your best in front of Mr. Khruschev, not to mention all of the men that would want to ask you to dance.” Katyusha explained. “Oh, but don’t worry. You look pretty the way that you are. I just want to bring out a little more of your features.”

_ She’s definitely passive aggressive. _ You concluded, mentally vomiting at the thought of being asked to actually mingle and waltz with Soviet men.

Sitting down next to you on the window seat, Kat began taking out several pencils of some kind and glass capsules. It was makeup, something you had never worn or touched before. In fact, you were unsure if you even wanted to try it for the first time. The thought of putting a pencil near your eye made you fester with anxiousness. Honestly, you felt like you would end up accidentally lashing out at the Ukrainian if she made the slightest, uncomfortable movement when attempting to apply it to you.

As carefully as possible, Kat gently grasped your jaw and turned your face to see what she could fix and improve. You weren’t sure if letting her do this was such a good or a bad idea, but you had to get over the unnamed fear. She wasn’t doing anything wrong and you didn’t sense anything unwelcoming about her other than the fact that she talked so much. Maybe it was because of your out-of-touch conflict with other women or your years of being handled by Ivan, but you were anything but mentally controlled at this point. Kat stared and inspected your face for the longest time before reaching a conclusion.

“Hm. I don’t know if I’ll be able to cover these dark circles, but luckily it looks like you’re wearing eye shadow already. It makes a good smokey look with your eye color.” She said, and let go of your face, taking out a small, angled brush and a tiny, glass container no larger than a river rock from her purse. The container was filled with a black substance.

“I’ll just add some wings, something for your lashes, and fix up your brows. Okay?” She smiled and unscrewed the top to the container, already dipping the brush into the thick, black gel. After coating the thin, angled brush with the liner gel, she brought it up to your face while holding your head still with the other hand.

“Now, just close your eyes and keep perfectly still.” Kat informed when she noticed your uncertainty. Doing as she asked, you closed your eyes and then felt a weird, thin rubbing against your right lash line. You tried your best not to tear up from the irritation.

“So, I hear you never sleep. Is that true?” She asked as the continued to work on the wings she was drawing.

“For the most part, yes.” You answered.

“You’re an insomniac?”

“I guess-- I guess you could say that.”

You felt her finish the right eye and move to the left eye, but you dared not to open them, trying to keep them as still and flat as possible.

“Just to an extent?” She added.

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever worn makeup before?”

“No.”

“Really? I’m surprised! You’re doing a great job so far.”

“Thanks...”

It went quiet for a moment while she concentrated on perfecting the other wing, trying to make it symmetrical to the other eye. She occasionally paused to dip back into the container for more product. All that could be heard was the melodious radio and the indistinct conversation between Toris and Natalia. At least the small talk that Kat was conferring with you had stopped.

Then, Kat removed the brush from your eye, giving you the intention that she was finished with the wings. But you did not open your eyes until she told you to. You heard her rummage through the purse again until she presumptively pull out another instrument.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now, but I want you to look down and keep still again.” She commanded. Opening your eyes, you glanced at what she took out next. It was a tube with a silver casing. She unscrewed it and pulled out a wand with a black comb on the end, much like a pipe cleaner.

Doing as she instructed, you looked down and hoped for the best. Cautiously, she applied the mascara to your lashes, combing the black gel through the small hairs. She only did this briefly, making them appear natural instead of clotty.

“Now look up.” She ordered, and you did. Trying not to blink was maybe the hardest part of the procedure and it didn’t help that your waterline was filling with irritable tears. Quickly combing through the bottom lashes, she stopped and put the wand back into the tube.

As soon as she put the product away, she studied her work carefully and narrowed her eyes, making sure everything was symmetrical and neat. Her humble smile increased.

“Alright. So far so good.” She let go of your chin and picked out a pencil with a color that was close to your hair color. “Let me see what I can do about your brows.”

She took the cap off the top and held your head with one hand. You relaxed your brows, not furrowing them at all. You felt the tip of the pencil trace over both of your brows, deepening the shade, defining and sharpening the shape.

“Tell me? What’s your favorite thing about staying with my little brother?” She asked, attempting to snare you into another conversation.

In all honesty, you tried to hold back the urge to snort a laugh at the question, or her choice of words. Thinking of Ivan as a little brother to someone made your mind prickle with thousands of sneers. But you had to swallow your insulting laugh. Kat would be bound to mess up on your brows if you twitched a chortle.

“I-- I’m not sure. I’ve never been asked that question.” You murmured.

Katyusha tsked playfully. “Oh, you can tell me. Really.” She beamed. “What do you like so far about your stay in his country?”

_ Pushy, aren’t we?  _ You thought, fighting the urge to raise an irritated brow at her brashness. There was a sudden suspicion that she might be trying to pull an opinion from you and tattle to Ivan.  _ She could be a spy. _

Faintly grinding your teeth together, you tried to come up with something, digging up anything from the top of your brain.  _ Lie if you have to. _

“I guess I like the weather.” You lied. “It’s similar to mine, just a bit colder.” That last part wasn’t a lie. Kat hummed a chuckle in her throat.

“That’s nice. It’s good to know that someone other than Natalia and I have a liking to his climate. You know,” She paused for a minute to switch to the second brow, “I think it is so sweet that he’s taken such good care of the scarf that I gave him all those many years ago.”

Awe and realization shot straight into your head, causing your eyes to narrow. “Wait.” You said with complete bewilderment in your hushed tone. “You gave him the scarf? The one that he never takes off?”

“Oh, yes!” She calmly exclaimed. “I remember the day that I wrapped it around his neck. The poor dear, he was so cold. He barely had any warm clothes to wear and I felt so bad for not having the money or materials to make him a new coat. Oh, I just couldn’t let him freeze his little face off. So, I let him have it. Anything to keep him from turning blue. Luckily, as he grew, he became much more accustomed to the cold. But it makes me so happy that he still wears my scarf. Such a sweet thing of him to do.”

You were silent for a moment. You wanted to say something, but you couldn’t. After considering and processing what Kat had just spewed from her mouth, you continued to hold your dead silence, but she finished perfecting the brows, making them look as natural as possible.

“And we are done.” She announced contentedly, happy with her work. You stood up, glad that she was finally finished. “Go. Go.” She flicked her wrist at you and gestured to the mirror that was above the dresser. “Go look in the mirror.” She insisted, talking to you like an encouraging parent to a young child.

Being as polite as you could, you ambled over to the mirror, and looked at the work she had done. You stared for a few moments, taking in the image; what was different and untouched. Internally, you had to applaud Ivan’s sister on her work.

Your brows were deepened and defined in shape and shade, matching with your hair color. The arch was serious yet simple.The wings that were perfectly placed over your eyes were not too long or short or thin or fat. Kat shaped them so flawlessly that they followed the natural curve of your lash line. Your lashes were darkened and defined, adding volume and openness to your eyes. Kat was right about the dark circles around your eyes. They blended so well into the rest of the makeup. It really did look like added shadow. It wasn’t to the extent that it looked like you weren’t wearing makeup, but it appeared to be so raw, so natural, so simple. But you didn’t feel approachable.

“Do you like it?” Kat asked from where she sat, putting away the products.

“It’s nice.” You simply said, not exactly sounding confident with your words. You felt Kat frown slightly from your indifferent response.

“Is it too much?” She asked, standing up and taking a few steps towards you. “I can take some of it off if you want.”

“Oh, no, no. It’s fine.” You reassured her, turning in her direction with a faint smile of gratitude. “I’ve just never seen myself wearing it before.” And you turned back to the mirror, dropping the smile.

Katyusha giggled under her breath, humbly. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”

_ Thank her. _ You thought, biting your lip for not thinking of it earlier.

“Thank you, Kat.” Turning to face the Ukrainian, you gave her a brisk and mellow smile. Returning a pleased curl of her lip, Katyusha chuckled a response.

“There’s no need to thank me, dear.” She walked straight back to her bed with her open suitcase laying on the top, its contents scattered with clothes and other whatnots. “Besides, you and I got to talk for a while, got to know a little bit about each other.”

You nodded, and then you remembered something. Your (e/c) eyes widened.  _ Gilbert _ . Your heart jolted for a moment and then pumped the anxious blood through your veins.

“I-- I’m afraid I forgot about something I supposed to take care of.” You said, stuttering at the beginning of your sentence. “Do you mind if I-”

“Oh, no. Go ahead.” Kat said with a dismissing gesture of her hand, understanding your sudden need.

“Thank you.” You quickly said, and turned and headed out the door, taking a small glimpse at Toris and Natalia, who were still contently chatting with each other.

_ Christ.  _ You thought, mentally slapping a hand to your forehead from the outraging amount of embarrassment and irritation. Though the awkward situation was over, you still felt the effects of it on your shoulders, crushing your veins with heat and timidness. The dissociation that you had with women was compellingly terrible and it was quite notable to Kat. You could see it in her cyan eyes. 

But it did surprise you that you lasted that long with her, able to tolerate her fidgeting and playfulness. You had to admit, Katyusha was a bit of a tease, not to mention that she was a chattering bird, but she was very kind and attentive. You sensed absolutely no threat from her. Though she didn’t point it out, she noticed everything about your nervousness and alertness. And it only took one sweet smile for you to make the presumption. After all, she was the oldest child of her family. She had to have learned something about children's behaviors when it came to raising her two siblings.

But what you were most thankful for was that Katyusha didn’t press anything deplorable rumors and facts that were possibly whispered by Ivan. Sure, him telling her about your habits was ignominious, but it wasn’t anything damning to your reputation. You would think that the intolerable man would tell much more crucial information about you to his sister. Apparently, he didn’t. It began to make you think that he was living up to his word on keeping the ignoble affair a secret.

As you continued to head towards the living room, the simmering blush had toned down and disappeared on your cheeks and the embarrassment was stricken from your face. You were thankful that it was no longer present as you climbed down the stairs and ambled to the living room. From the staircase did you see Gilbert sitting on the couch, patiently waiting for you.

He was in the uniform he was given and, clearly, he did not enjoy wearing it on his skin. His red eyes were fixed into a nasty glare on the floor. His head rested against his arm which was propped on the arm of the couch. His pale lips were shaped into a loathing scowl, hating every second of living in the symbolic uniform. It almost reminded you of yourself when Ivan had pinned the red star on your chest on your performance day. Your eyes softened as you approached him, pitying his very image, but kept their wits on the guard that stood hawkishly from the corner.

Gilbert glanced at you and immediately perked his head up, transforming from a cold and bitter state to a warm and charming appearance. A smirk replaced his icy frown and his garnet eyes lit up with pleasure and invitation. He looked like a dog that had waited all day for its owner to return home, wagging its tail and widening its eyes with excitement and interest. Your company meant so much to him. It was his only source of happiness for the time being.

“What took you so long?” Gilbert asked with a leer.

You rolled you eyes and sighed. “Katyusha wanted to put makeup on me.” You replied, sounding utterly galled with the task you were thrown into.

Gilbert stared at you for a moment, his eyes barely darting across your face. An apprehension branched out in your head once again. You weren’t worried if he demanded that you wash the product off. With or without it, either way, you didn’t care. However, you were a bit antsy that he would scold you for allowing Kat to put it on you. Never did you want to disappoint your brother. Not even for the most simplest mistakes. But his smirk only grew wider and he leaned back a bit.

“Well, it doesn’t look bad.” He stated, resting his hand on the arm of the couch. He chuckled for a moment before he spoke again. “Hell, if you weren’t my sister, I’d get with you and-”

“Shut up, Gil.” You shook your head and furrowed your brows in aggravation, but your lips couldn’t help but curl into a vague laugh, thankful that he was being humorous with you. Gilbert chuckled right back and grinned, showing his teeth.

  
  
  
  


The Kremlin, 7:10 PM

Gilbert shivered indistinctly to the snowy air that seeped through the fabric of his black uniform, hopeful not to let you catch his slight discomfort. The tip of his nose was already a rosy pink contrasted to his frighteningly pale skin. The irony was that this was his one chance to step foot outside... _ and it’s freezing cold. And it was cold in the car! _

The group was walking quickly to the entrance of the Kremlin building, but you and him lingered a few feet behind the Slavs and Baltics. Finally, after all of the windy and blustering weeks, snow softly descended from the black storm clouds that carpeted the evening sky. The sun was gone, far beyond the horizon and the dark void of night settled in for the hours to come.

However, the enlightened windows, the glowing, yellow entrance, and the lamp lights that surrounded the area gave the pavement some sort of illumination. It was just enough light for Gilbert not to trip over his feet in the dark. The sunny, orange lights glowed against his pale face, providing little warmth to his skin.

The boots on cobblestone echoed in everyone’s ears, but Katyusha and Natalia were too busy talking to Ivan to even pick up the clopping. Ever so faintly could Gilbert hear the chattering of officials and their wives inside the enormous capitol building. It sounded all so unclear to him for two reasons. One, the conversations were within the walls of the brick and many layers of wood and plaster. Two, he couldn’t understand the language.

Gilbert scolded himself internally. He knew it would have been wise to learn Russian and he never asked Toris to teach him a single word of the Slavic language. If he took the time to digest the speech, he would feel less anxious of what Ivan or the other officials were discussing. But he was too arrogant and full of himself to let his tongue slip away from German.

He let his red eyes glance towards you. He smiled a little seeing that you walked right beside him, not leaving his side. If he sped up, you would speed up. If he slowed down, you would slow down. Taking his hand out of his pocket, he gently swept his hand on the back of your head, comfortingly running his hand fingers through your (h/l), (h/c) hair.

“Are you alright?” He asked, taking note of your stiff posture.

You looked up at him for a moment, gave a slight, troubled smile, and returned your focus to the front.

“Yeah. Just not looking forward to this.” You whispered, not wanting anyone but him to hear. Gilbert bobbed his head in agreement and chuckled through his long nose.

“You and I both.” He whispered back, looking straight ahead towards the approaching entrance.

“At least you don’t have to shake hands with a goddamn communist leader.” You sarcastically muttered under your breath. Gilbert leveled his head, his eyes staring ahead as he spoke.

“That is true.” He grunted lowly, his garnet orbs sharpening in indifference.

A pressure was building within the depths of his mind, shoving against the sides of his brain. Something about you meeting with Khrushchev felt off with Gilbert and it was for many reasons. He didn’t like the idea that you would possibly discuss circumstances with the Red leader for his own benefits. And he despised the image of you shaking hands with the communist; an unholy picture in the German’s mind. There was a brief pause before he spoke again.

“Promise me you won’t interact with any of these pigs.” He growled, warning you not to disobey him.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” You replied with the same timbre, only holding back your urge to snort in disbelief that Gilbert would actually think you would proceed with such a revolting action. Dancing with a Soviet was the last thing on earth you would want to do and it made you want to laugh and frown.

“If you want, I’ll stay with you for the entire night.” You offered, glancing up at your brother with concern. Gilbert exchanged a glance with you and smiled kindly.

“That would be nice.” He whispered, seeing that they were within feet of entering the Kremlin.

Passing the several guards that held the door open, the group made it inside the building, out of the cold and into the warm air. You watched as Ivan took off his hat and dusted off the few snowflakes that landed on it. Some of them had already melted and splotched the dark green fabric. Soon, it would evaporate with the warm, dry air. He placed it back onto his head and brushed off the icy flakes that sat on his shoulders as the group continued into the building.

The large door was closed behind you as soon as everyone was inside, keeping out the freezing breath of the world outside. You and Gilbert followed close behind the Baltics, careful not to get lost in the many long halls, though you knew the place like the back of your hand.  _ Sadly. _

But you had never been inside of this ‘ballroom’ that officials had spoke of. Why hadn’t you stepped foot inside of the room, you didn’t know. Maybe it had to do with the amount of trust they had with you, but most of the men working in the Union would use any excuse to get drunk and slack off.

The boisterous waves of Slavic chatter grew increasingly louder as the group trekked up a flight of stairs and down the last dark hall to the destination. Sighing, you reached over and took hold of Gilbert’s hand and squeezed it.  _ I’m nervous. _

He spared a glimpse down at it and returned his gaze to the approaching door, squeezing your hand in return. _ I’m here. _ And you both let go, ready to face the room of judging eyes and nasty commentary that hissed on the tip of their tongues.

The ballroom light gleamed on your (s/c) skin as it flooded over your face. The group had paused for a moment, possibly trying to find a way to get past the crowds.

From what you could see, past the towering Slavs and Baltics, there were men in dark green everywhere. A sea of ugly green with red fish in their overlapping waves. Many of them were swarmed up in large groups, all having the same conversation. As for their wives, fiances, and lady friends for the night, were dressed in all kinds of muted shades. Washed out and faded pinks, reds, blues, yellows, but mostly whites. Nearly all of them were drinking and smoking with glasses cigarettes in their hands. You saw a few men with entire bottles in their clutches.

The ceiling was high with the lofty, glossy walls that supported it. There was decorative embroidery up and down their smooth, polished surface, never seeming to find an end to its twirling, gold pattern. Plenty of sparkling, glass chandeliers hug from the arced ceiling above, glittering with its many crystals. The windows were monstrous as well as the curtains that stood beside them. Near one of the farthest walls, you spotted a glass door that led to a balcony. And one lengthy fireplace spewed its heat within the crowds. You could only see the flickering flames through the minor gaps of people.

“Jesus, this place is crawling with bolsheviks!” Gilbert whispered down to you, glaring around at all of the many Russians. You did not look up at him to reply. Instead, you did the same as he did.

“It’s the Kremlin.” You whispered back to him. “This is their breeding ground.”

“Right you are.” He muttered back, straightening himself.

Just as you were about to press forward with the rest of the group, a large figure stormed straight for you. Ivan. _ He must have heard the remarks that Gilbert and I said. _

You watched as he casually rushed in your direction, parting the Baltics like a ship in an ocean.You braced for impact, putting your arm up horizontally to block his force. But he swept right past you, which tended to your curiosity and surprise.

However, though you weren’t his target, your eyes sharpened in disgust as Ivan aimed straight towards Gilbert. He barbarically grabbed your brother by his shoulder and shoved him back, forcing him to come into contact with the trim of the entrance. First, his back hit the wood, then the crown of his skull. There was a definite thrack when his head hit the surface and a shutter of discontent exited through his mouth. His eyes were squeezed shut when the shock settled in.

“Ivan!” You growled through gritted teeth, not loud enough to draw the attention of surrounding officials. Threateningly, you stalked towards Ivan, your eyes needle-like daggers. “Let go of him.” You hissed with an expression like a feral dog. It was going to be a matter of seconds for you to hurl a kick into Ivan’s side if he produced any more discomfort for Gilbert.

Finally turning his attention towards you, Ivan glared down at you over his shoulder, still pinning Gilbert to the wall with his harsh, leather hand. His violet irises held utter warning from beneath the brim of his hat like a snake under a rock. A cold wrath stitched together his lethal frown.

“Might I remind you that you must be responsible for this Nazi tonight.” Ivan mumbled to you, raising an eyebrow in attentiveness.

“I know, Braginski, but what’s your fucking deal here?” You snapped, becoming much more impatient with him. He still hadn’t let go of Gilbert, who was now glaring his red eyes directly into the Russian that pushed his back against the wall. If he wasn’t careful, you wouldn’t be afraid to cause a scene in front of Khrushchev and the many photographers. Ivan gave a curt, breathy laugh through his large nose.

“He is to stay in this very spot.” He said, letting go of Gilbert and taking a step back. Gilbert took himself off of the wall and rubbed his shoulder, scowling with boiling fury at Ivan. “He is not allowed to roam around for the entire night.” He pointed a finger at you as if he were warning or scolding you. “No alcohol for him either.”

“Excuse me?” You growled lowly, confused and angry with his sudden and ridiculous excuse. “You said that he could come to this damn celebration.”

Ivan smiled slowly and leaned down to talk to you. “And is he here?” He sweetly whispered. Your pulse simmered with heat and the tips of your ears were lit aflame.  _ How fucking childish of you, Braginski. _

You knew that Ivan was going to have his accustomed pleasure one way or another. Last week, he had promised to allow Gilbert to attend the celebration. But you never said that he could engage with you or anyone for that matter while the party was going on. This was the game that Ivan was playing with you. Gilbert could come. Not interact.

After holding stern glares on one another, Ivan straightened himself back to his height. He shot one last look at Gilbert and turned towards the center of the room. He then looked down at you once again and smiled.

“Get your dog situated and leashed. Then, come find me. And don’t take your time. Khruschev will be waiting.” He muttered sternly to you, and strode off into the crevices where there weren’t people with his scarf waving behind him.

Grinding your teeth as you watched him leave, you quickly turned around and tended to Gilbert. He was still easing the sudden strain on his shoulder.

“Did he hurt you?” You said softly, reaching up and placing your hand over his shoulder. You eyes dripped with concern, hoping that he wasn’t going to be bruised. If he was, it would mean there would be an unpleasant revenge for the Russian country.

Shaking his head, Gilbert smiled faintly at your comfort and sighed. “No. I’m fine. Just not used to being thrown around I guess.”

“I can’t believe he would do this.” You grunted, taking your hand off of Gilbert’s shoulder, glaring at the glossy, wood floor. Gilbert cocked his head slightly.

“What? Throw me against the wall?” He snorted a laugh, ceasing his rubbing on his shoulder.

“That he agreed to bring you here, but not allow you to be with me or walk into the room!” You said in a hushed and aggressive tone. Gilbert chuckled a stifled exhale through his long nose.

“(Y/n).” He said softly, almost as if he were admitting something. Obediently, you looked up at him, desiring to hear what he had to say. His red eyes stared straight into you, but they were so incredibly solicitous that they were anything but hostile. “He and I have been at it longer than you’ve been alive. And it doesn’t seem like our attitudes and customs towards each other will stop anytime soon. And--”

He almost laughed for a moment, but he quickly coughed it away and instead whispered. “I think it would have been awesome to see you embarrass him with a slap to the jaw in front of all these bolsheviks. But...just for tonight, I need you to play it safe with me. Trust me, he’ll find every way to exclude me from any luxury I’m offered. There’s no telling what kind of tortures Braginski will have for us if we mess this up for him in front of all his damn piers.”

You smirked with nausea and disbelief, rolling your eyes, but you mentally had to agree with him. If you fucked it up for Ivan tonight, he could fuck up everything for Gilbert behind closed doors.

“So, we’re going with the pussy way?” You sarcastically murmured. Nodding with his charming, signature smirk and playful, red eyes, Gilbert lightly nodded.

“Pussy way.” He agreed. Placing a hand on your arm, he gently and encouragingly gestured you away from him. “Now, go attend to that fool before you get into trouble. I’ll just wait here.”

Furrowed your brows in an unassertive manner, not sure if Gilbert was being sincere. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” You asked before you decided to leave your brother for a few minutes. Gilbert chuckled his strange laugh under his breath, which gave you some reassurance.

“Don’t worry, (Y/n). I’m not going anywhere. If anything happens, I’ll let you know. Hell, I’ll scream rape if I have to.” He said, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms. After studying him for a moment, you smiled back at him and replied.

“Be safe, Gil.” And you turned and strode through the crowds to find Ivan.  
  
  


An officer conferred with his fellow officials by a nearby wall until a flash of black caught his eye, causing him to look past his friend.

“Hey,” He pointed with a glass in his hand at you from a distance as you walked through the spaces between the groups of people, “isn’t that the country, (country name)? The one Braginski has training the army?”

His acquaintance stopped and turned to see who the officer was talking about. He spotted you and turned back to the officer, taking a quick sip of his drink.

“Yeah, that’s her alright. _ The dangerous bitch... _ ” He replied with a grumble. His wife, who flirtatiously flipped her golden, blonde hair over her shoulder, took to his attention.

“Whomever are you talking about, darling?” She asked with a dashing smile, wanting to know who her husband was speaking of in hopes that she could pick up some gossip.

“The Nazi.” He replied blandly, gesturing with his head. She giggled after getting a glimpse of you as you continued to search for Ivan.

“How do you know she’s a Nazi? She certainly doesn’t have the physique of one.” She asked naively, seeming not to show any brightness in front of her husband’s acquaintances, which only just began to peeve him.

“Believe it or not. She is. Only she and her brother wear the black uniforms.” The officer replied for the husband. “Plus, I’ve seen her around the Kremlin a couple of times with Mr. Braginski.”

“She has a brother?” She asked, furrowing her brows. The officer nodded.

“But nobody’s seen him for quite some time until tonight. They say he looks like an albino rat with red eyes. He used to be the country Prussia, but now he’s just the territory of East Berlin.” The officer concluded, taking a sip from his glass.

“I see.” She asked, a bit curious. She then cocked her head slightly. “Whatever is Prussia?”

“A mistake that’s finally gone.” Replied the husband after finishing his drink with haste and annoyance. “Now shut up and get me another drink, Anna.”  
  
  
  


Your eyes scanned the vast room for the tall man, turning you head slowly to catch sight of his defining features, especially the scarf. But he was nowhere to be seen.  _ Where the hell is he? _ All that came into your vision was a green forest of Slavs. There was only a slight chance that you would find him within the next ten minutes.

Observantly, you pressed onward to one of the most crowded areas of the room. Luckily, you spotted him as you stood outside of the large group where the floor was nearly empty, allowing you to move freely. He was deep within the group of officials, smiling radiantly down upon someone or something. You watched him patiently as he spoke with the center of attention. It took him a while to notice you standing on the outskirts of the gathering.

When he did, he quickly glanced down and conferred with the person that was hidden in the crowd. Then, he strode out of the sea of people as they parted to release him. As he approached you, he removed his hat from his head, and held it in his hands. He smirked placidly and his eyes were raptured in enjoyment. He was already having fun.

“I see you found your way.” He said, and he beckoned you towards him with the gentle wave of his hat. “Come on. He’s waiting.”

Sighing through your nose, you hesitated, but uneasily walked beside Ivan. Just before you had entered the swarm, you felt Ivan place his hand on your far shoulder, using it as a guide so that you wouldn’t get lost.  _ Or embarrass me… _

Already, people started to disperse and break away from the center of attention as you heard a tough, Russian tongue thunder through the crowd. “Alright, all of you. That’s enough. I have some serious business to attend to.”

Like flocks of crows, the officials slowly fled away from the voice, obeying the command. But Ivan continued to guide you past the streams of people, facing straight ahead while murmuring to you.

“Don’t be rude. He was nice enough to let your brother show up tonight.”

You shallowly nodded.

Then, you were within feet of the Red leader who was gesturing his officials to leave his sight, but a few of his closest allies stayed by his side.

He wasn’t a tall man, only standing a few inches over five foot. His features were aged and he had absolutely no hair on his head. His dark eyes were squinting through his thick glasses. He smiled as he caught sight of Ivan.  _ Such an ugly smile… _

“There she is.” He said sounding content and opening his arms a bit as if to welcome you into an embrace. You wouldn’t. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

Ivan took his hand off your shoulder, and strangely enough, you wished that the odd comfort didn’t leave you. It was beginning to make the tips of your ears fume with heat as your want for his hand to be back on you shoulder grew more prominent.

Khrushchev stepped closer to you, his steps almost waltzing in a ponderous pattern. He was a little too close for your liking but far away enough for you to enjoy. You could only stand there with an apathetic glare, giving him the indication that you weren’t up for foolishness.

“And how are we this evening?” He asked cocking his head a bit.

“Fine.” You replied blankly.

He nodded and his smile weakened, expecting the cold handed response from you.

“I thought you would say that.” He chuckled, but he went straight back to his grand state. “Well, first things first. There are some things I would like to congratulate you on for your help for the past few years, including recently. I’m sure Ivan has given you his critique on the Tzar Bomb that some of your scientists have helped us test.”

“He has.” You replied, glancing at Ivan who was now beside Khrushchev.

“It was one of the biggest we’ve ever detonated. In fact, I don’t think any other country has detonated one of this scale before.” He continued. “And I am quite confident that the Union will become much stronger for the next few years.”

He began to turn, which alerted you that he want you to walk with him. Slowly, you walked beside him, opposite to Ivan.

“Tell me, Beilschmidt.” He started again, exhaling under his breath. “Have you heard much about the United States? News wise that is.”

“They have a new president. Kennedy.” You said, keeping your eyes to the surroundings, never to let them land on the Red leader. He chuckled.

“Smart girl.” He began to gesture with his hands. “You see, between you and me, the United States and I haven’t been having the greatest of times, especially since our little skirmish in Cuba. And now I have Castro barking up my tree, asking for more protection from me. Not only that, but our Union is being threatened by NATO and its other allies. My affiliates and agents tell me that these ‘fighters of NATO’ have missiles and other weapons of mass destruction lined up around our borders. It’s almost like they’ve got us cornered like rabbits just itching to pull their triggers on us.”

He turned his head towards you once he stopped walking. You did the same.

“What I’m asking of you is to increase the number of your country’s missiles to Cuba.” He said with serious depth to his tone. “Also, I would like to ask if your scientists will invent more long-ranged weapons, ones that are more accurate than ours.”

Your face was more than sharp and stern with this chaotic man. It was dangerous that he was asking for more weapons and explosives from you. But there were two red flags raised when he spoke to you. One; He wanted the missiles to be long-ranged, meaning they could travels hundreds and thousands of miles to reach their target. Two; America was involved.

Knowing that he and Ivan were still at large with the U.S. in their Cold War, AKA their pissing contest, you had to reply in your own timbre.

“Depends on what you’re aiming for.” You muttered, narrowing your eyes at the man. Making an educated guess, you figured he was going to set his sights on the capital of the United States. Washington D.C.

Khrushchev stared at you for a moment and added a bit of slyness to his smile. He stepped a little closer to you and kept his voice at a low murmur.

“I don’t think that it’s exactly fair that Kennedy has his weapons so close to our border. My officials tell me that they are in range of Moscow. So,” He sighed, “I plan to take my own defenses by having missiles close enough to hit Washington D.C.”

Your complexion became much more distraught from his statement, sterning yourself from all possible sarcasm and snarkiness. The words rang like alarms in your head.  _ Khrushchev might hit America’s capital. _

Seeing that your appearance became a bit alarmed, disgusted, and suspicious, the Red leader chuckled after glancing at Ivan.

“You see, Beilschmidt, I want you to understand the significance of your role in this war. You’re not only going to help me, Prime Minister Castro, and the Union, but you will at least give us a head start on the Americans. So far, we’ve out mastered them in many different field. Hell, we’ve even gotten Sputnik up into orbit! It had the Americans running all over the place like ants!”

He gently placed a hand on your shoulder and shook it, making sure he was getting your full attention.

“And if you help me with this dilemma, I will be more than grateful to your support.”

Annoyance was all that drowned your face.  _ Here’s the Bolshevik leader asking for my support in a damn pissing contest. _ It was impossible for you to refuse or reject his request. You could not object and he damn well knew that. You signed an agreement to help the Union and you couldn’t back out of it. Khrushchev was just sticking your nose in it.  _ Because it makes him feel strong… _

“Might I remind you that I signed an agreement to aid the Union.” You muttered with irritation in your tone, narrowing your (e/c) eyes at him. He removed his hand from your shoulder.

“I’m quite aware of it.” He chuckled back. This irked you.

“And,” You said a bit louder as some sparks of anger flew from your throat, “you do acknowledge the fact that you don’t have to ask permission of me to allow you to do such actions.”

Your tongue continued to sharpen as the man started to get a bit enraged as well.

“Does it bother you that I am as nice as to ask you?” He replied harshly.

“No. I just find it so funny that you like to rub your fraction of power in my face.” You said in a hushed voice, a small smirk slithered onto your lips. Khrushchev still held his carefree expression for the party, but his eyes were sparking with bitterness.

A moment passed and the man hadn’t uttered a single remark or reply, but it was clear that there was an electric current of anger and grudge between the two of you. You decided to end the dispute so that you could leave to go and meet Gilbert again.

“Well, sir, if you want my approval, you have it. Consider your request done.” You said, pushing some snarkiness into your tone. Animosity rushed through the man’s blood, but he nodded after hostily scrutinizing you. Just before he turned to one of his hounding officials, he glared towards Ivan.

“Ivan, get her out of my sight.” He commanded angrily like a low, snarling dog. And with that, you felt Ivan place a hand on your shoulder, turn you away from the corrupt leader, and guide you away.

Surprisingly, Ivan wasn’t harsh with his handling. His grip was almost tender and weightless. He kept his hand on you until you were both in some free space. He stopped and took his hand off of you, but he didn’t exactly let you off the hook.

“You handled that well.” He murmured sarcastically with a nettled tone.

“Well, I agreed to his command, didn’t I?” You growled, not wanting him to give you his remarks. Ivan sighed.

“You did, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude, especially to the person that has your brother’s life in their hands.” He warned.

You tsked, glaring up at him. “So now you’re going to scold me?”

“Keep up the act and maybe I will.” He said sternly, but not in a threatening way like he normally would put it. He almost sounded tired and unable. “But I at least expected it from you.”

“But you didn’t stop me.” You narrowed your eyes at him, a bit puzzled as to why he didn’t snatch you out of the heated conversation. Ivan’s intense eyes softened almost understandingly.

“How could I in a place like this?” He raised his arms slightly, referring to where you were at the moment.  _ A party of several hundred people. _

“Then, maybe instead of expecting it, you should prevent it.” You murmured to him, scoffing at his decision. Instead of rolling his eyes at your reply, he smirked. It was almost mockingly.

“Trust me, pet. I’m working on that.” He cooed with a growl on his lips, almost serving as a prudent promise.

That smile of his only made your leering scowl harden with discontent. Sure, he acknowledged the fact that you were going to insult Khrushchev in his essence, but he did not reach your expectations on preventing you from uttering a single word of mockery or displeasure. It almost made you want to laugh out of frustration.

Neither of you broke your silence of glares until a deep and thunderous voice split through your private atmosphere. A man’s voice. It sounded somewhat familiar to you...

“I’m surprised you haven’t started drinking already, Braginski.”

The booming yet low tongue came directly behind Ivan and his eyes immediately widened in surprise when he heard the tone strike his ears. A much more inviting expression walked across his face. You kept your countenance apathetic, but held some pique to your features.

Ivan turned around to face the man, stepping aside slightly, possibly wanting to introduce you and affix you into the conversation as well.

“Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.” Ivan greeted, his tone turning pleased and upbeat. You could just see him smiling, teeth and all. Ivan then looked down at you as you peered to see who the man was.

“(Y/n). You remember my lieutenant, Volkov, nyet?” Ivan asked you. Your heart dropped within your chest and your ribs shattered with shock and a bitter hate, one that you haven’t felt in years. Once your eyes gazed upon the man, the blood in your veins boiled to a blistering and murderous heat. Your brows furrowed into a stern scowl and your lips were a harsh line. Your eyes, however, held the most vile and loathing principles out of all of your features.

“ _ This bastard is still alive…?” _ You thought, having the inner mien of a wild dog with snarling, dagger-like fangs ready to cut the throat of an opponent.

Volkov definitely appeared to be different. He had aged greatly since the last time you had seen his presence slither out from under a heap of inhumane and communist scandals.  _ Like a snake disappearing beneath a rock. _

He was about 54 years old now and much more decorated than before because of his many years in the Union’s service. His steel, cobalt eyes were still prominent in their harsh, icy color. The diamond-shaped head that he had gained some baggage and wrinkles around his mouth, cheeks, and forehead. But his jawline continued to be strong and his cheeks sunken in. You couldn’t tell if he still had his blond buzz cut or not, because of the officer hat that he wore. But because of his age, you guessed that he had gone bald. His height was still in tact, but he was slightly shorter than Ivan.

His shoulder had bore several more one inch, red lines on his dark green uniform. The lines had actually trailed down from his shoulder and down his sleeve. There were ten on his uniform now, some of them appearing older than the rest. And you knew exactly what they were for.  _ My specialists… _

You hated this man. Though you had only seen Volkov a few times in the past when you had first become part of the Soviet Union, you detested him almost more than Ivan himself. You knew that Volkov had a grudge against you and your brother, especially after witnessing the way he treated Gilbert in the streets of Moscow upon your arrival.

Something about him just reeked of sadism and resentment. You didn’t exactly know what his sickening motive was, but you guessed that it was because of your shared history. But all you had to know was that Volkov was dangerous and evil and he did not like you or Gilbert. And that was fine with you, because you felt the same way towards him and anyone he kept close to him.

“I’m afraid so…” You murmured lowly, having your eyes keenly narrowed on the lieutenant. You weren’t surprised to see that he had the exact same vengeful aura as you. But his thin, pale lips contained a hint of satire.

“So this is the same little Nazi that I dragged to Moscow all those years ago.” Volkov sneered, stepping a bit closer to you as he spoke; his hands behind his back. “And I thought that her attitude would have been changed by now. Tsk, oh well. A fascist dies a fascist.”

Clenching your teeth together, you fought the urge to bark an insult back into his ears. But what happened next bewildered and silently surprised you.

“Oh, come off it, Volkov.” Ivan persuaded with a friendly whine. “We’re all part of the Union, are we not? Plus, why would we want to disrupt this ‘welcoming of winter’ celebration for our officials?”

Volkov’s appearance subsided into an annoyed glare as his attention flowed towards Ivan’s words. With slight confusion in your features, you could only glance at Ivan for his sudden interference.  _ Why is he doing this? Wouldn’t he have wanted to listen to Volkov slander me after what I did in front of the damn Red leader? _ But your eyes returned to the lieutenant after a moment.

Volkov ripped his considerable, cobalt eyes from Ivan and glanced scrutinizingly at you. After a smirk slowly lept onto his lips, the lieutenant nodded faintly in agreement. His mouth sucked in some air as if he were to sigh.

“I suppose you’re right.” He replied to Ivan, having a smartass timbre. “I think this murderer and I deserve to bury the hatchet for at least one night.”

Then, your eyes darted past the cold official and to an energetic and jovial woman in a white and blue, winter gown that came bounding over childishly from behind him. She slowed her prancing once she approached Volkov. She then put a hand on Volkov’s arm when she stopped.

“Father, they’re going to start the music again.” She beamed almost seductively, her white teeth showing between her red lips.

Her skin was a light color, but not exactly pale. She appeared to be fairly young; about 20 years old. She was almost as tall as her father, just shying a few inches away from his height. Her sandy, blonde hair cascaded with flowing curls and her blue eyes were almost frightening. The blue was so icy and piercing that it threw you off guard. You hated them. This woman was disgusting to you already.

Volkov sighed, almost sounding embarrassed of his own daughter.  _ “Well, I would be, too, if I were to have a daughter that looked like that.” _ You internally leered.

The lieutenant smiled after picking his apologetic eyes off the floor.

“Sabrina, have I ever introduced you to one of my closest comrades, Ivan Braginski?” He asked her. She looked at Ivan with wonder in her consideration. She smiled at him, alluringly.

“No.” She replied sweetly.

Quick to notice, you glanced at Ivan who was looking at this woman with a roused liking; almost lust. You felt yourself on the verge of angrily glaring at this. You didn’t know who to be aggravated with at this point. Ivan, Volkov, or this whore.

“You never told me you had a daughter.” Ivan said in astonishment to Volkov, raising a brow. “God, it really has been a while.”

“Children, Ivan.” Volkov corrected him, almost chuckling. “I have a son as well. He’ll be joining the army in a few weeks, but he’ll be taught in a different sector than the one Beilschmidt instructs.” He glanced discontentedly at you for a moment.

Then, the woman turned her attention towards you. Her seductiveness only then was used as a disguise for an entirely different attitude. From the looks of her features, she was secretly and silently hawking you.  _ A possible jealousy? _

“And who’s this?” She asked her father with some assertiveness in her tone. Volkov considered his words and then spoke.

“This is (Y/n) Beilschmidt, the country of (country name). She trains the army here in Moscow.” He replied to her with a sigh, withholding the critical details about you. Just by the looks of it, he was itching to label you as a Nazi for his daughter. But something was holding him back from doing so and politeness wasn’t one of the factors.

Sabrina’s nose upturned and she cocked her head a bit. “Beilschmidt? That’s a strange last name. I’ve never heard of something like that.”

“That’s because she’s not from here. She’s of German descent.” Volkov mumbled under his breath, a bit harsh and prominent with his word endings. As soon as the lieutenant finished his sentence, an official casually approached him.

“Lieutenant Volkov.” He said as he walked towards the sadistic man. Quickly, Volkov acknowledged him. “Khrushchev would like to see you now.” The official informed. Nodding, Volkov turned towards Ivan.

“I’m sorry, darling, I must attend to Mr. Khrushchev.” He exhaled. “I hope you don’t mind dancing with Mr. Braginski until I return. That is -- if that’s alright with you, Ivan.” He said to Ivan, asking for his daughter’s permission. Ivan gave a single nod and charmed a smile.

“That’s alright with me.” The Russian replied, gladly accepting. Volkov nodded and then took a moment to steal a glare from you before he chose to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He addressed, and he left to accompany his leader.

As soon as her brutal father disappeared into the many gathered crowds, Sabrina launched a conversation with you before the music began to slip into the air.

“So, you’re German?” She asked naively. Deciding to remain indifferent to her, you replied simply.

“In a ways, yes.”

Her eyes sparkled horrendously like a demented youngster. Her smiled became much more engaged and fantasized by your confirmation.

“Say something in German!” She commanded like an entranced child, wanting to be fascinated or for you to prove that you were, indeed, Germanic. You desired to roll your eyes at this, but, instead, you raised a brow and thought of a perfect and just sentence in your native tongue.

“Ist Ihr Menstruationszyklus oral?” You asked her, insultingly, referring to her shade of lipstick. She laughed for a moment, treating the moment as if she were playing a game, and she turned to Ivan.

“What did she say?” She asked in an astounded voice, wanting Ivan to translate immediately.

On the verge of leering, you turned your attention to Ivan. You expected the harsh look he gave you. His eyes were fixed onto you like a snake and the thin line on his lips gave you the definition of disapproval. You could just see his nettled brows beneath his messy, beige bangs.

However, after a moment, an uneasy smirk spread across his lips, knowing that he couldn’t scold you here.

“Oh, just a phrase.” He replied to Sabrina, keeping his reprimanding gaze with you. You couldn’t help but shy a smile of playfulness towards him, seeing that he was too interested in being perfect in front of this woman.

And as he answered her question, music began to play very softly and Ivan and Sabrina turned their heads in the direction of the melody. This queued you to leave the two. You began to turn and walk away, but Ivan stopped you when he saw you attempt to leave out of the corner of his violet eye.

“Where are you going?” He asked assertively. You turned your head towards him and raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you would know.” You told him.

Ivan stared at you until you answered him. Sighing and dropping your eyes to the floor for a moment, you answered his question.

“I’m going to accompany my brother.” You stated in a mutter, directing your whereabouts to Ivan. “You know where to find me.”

“How do I know you won’t run off and cause concern?” Ivan asked with notion. You shrugged lightly and furrowed your brows in defense.

“Where else would I want to be?” You replied softly, no longer wanting to bicker with him.

And with that, you turned and finally left, drifting through the crevices of people. Ivan watched as you vanished from his sights, no longer seeing a black uniform in the dark green forest. You physically left him, but your words affixed themselves to him. Or Ivan mentally noted the statement and placed it in a box in the back of his brain.

It confused him that he secretly felt offended by such simple words. Not even the music or the unintelligible conversations in the vast room could shatter them. He could recall too many times in the past when he was turned down by numerous people for numerous excuses. And he always seemed to turn a blind eye to occasions and go on with his life. And he thought that maybe he was so used to hearing it that he didn’t quite understand why it was so critical to him when he heard you say  _ “Where else would I want to be?” _

It wasn’t until Sabrina tugged on his arm impatiently and spoke to him did he snatch himself from his own little world.

“Mr. Braginski, come on. People are already dancing.” She said in an encouraging and overly tempting voice.

  
  
  
  


Smiling, both you and Gilbert made eye contact and his pleased grin only grew as you got closer to him. He began to talk to you once you were close enough to call it private.

“Thank God you’re back!” He said in an exaggerated tone, keeping it a bit hushed. “I was praying that you would get back here in time to drown out this godawful music with your voice.”

“No one gave you any trouble while I was gone, did they?” You asked Gilbert as you both propped yourselves against the wall. Gilbert gave a curt laugh through his long nose.

“Well, I got plenty of dirty looks and some points made from across the room. But other than that, no.” He said slowly and breathily. “I’m surprised none of these bastards have landed any fists on us.”

“Yet.” You added with a hint of sarcasm. Your brother nodded in agreement, smiling as he kept his head and eyes tilted down to the floor, keeping his arms crossed.

“Have you seen the Baltics?” You asked, scanning the crowds.

“Yeah. I saw Toris earlier with that Belarusian woman.” He said with a chuckle. “I think Toris has a thing for her. He’s been doing nothing but following her wherever she goes; talking to her nonstop. Christ, he’s like a dog in heat for her!”

“I’ve noticed.” You said with a smile.

“And then I saw Eduard talking to some people. I feel sorry for that kid, Raivis.” Gilbert continued. “He’s got nothing to do around here and I bet Eduard’s too stingy to let the boy have a drink. Poor kid is getting dragged around by that Estonian like a mule.”

“What about Kat?” You asked, wondering about the kind Ukrainian.

“Her? Oh.” He looked up and gestured with a nod of his head, pointing in a direction. “She’s over there.”

You followed in Gilbert’s directed nod and spotted Kat who was chatting amongst a small group of men. A shade of pink blushed upon your cheeks when you noticed that the Soviet men were only interested in the one, damning feature about her. Sure, she was talking to them. But were they listening. No. Only looking and fantasizing.

“I’d award her for getting the most men aroused in one night.” Gilbert chuckled with a hush. You shook your head at your brother’s childishness, tilting your head down to keep your smirk hidden.

“By the way, where is that bastard, Braginski?” Gilbert scoffed quietly as he scanned the crowds and the people dancing in the middle of the room to the traditional eastern european style of music.

You produced a brief hiss of a laugh in your throat, leering faintly.

“He’s off dancing with some whore.” You dismissed, visually searching the dancers in the middle of the room.

“So, all of the women here?” Gilbert derided, raising a brow.

“No.” You replied. “Just wait ‘till you see this one. She’s nothing compared to any that I’ve seen.”

Luckily, Ivan put your brother in a spot where he had a good view of the ballroom dancefloor. Within seconds, you spotted Ivan and Sabrina. The woman was smiling up at him and talking as they moved. Her blue eyes pierced every other color in the room. It was so horrendous.

Ivan was smiling and talking as well. The song that was playing wasn’t too fast, which meant that the dancers were going to be waltzing at a steady pace.

“There.” You said with the gentle tip of your head in Ivan’s direction. Gilbert followed your nod and began to smile mockingly. His red eyes filled with laughter and his brows were in a state of disgust.

“Good God!” He exclaimed under his breath in complete ridicule. “He sure knows how to pick ‘em. One like that would toy with his heart and break it for fun. And I’d know.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion and looked up at him. “How would you know?”

“Because I’ve slept with ones like those.” He teased you. You playfully slapped his arm and tried to maintain a stern scowl, but it failed, leaving you with a grin.

“Oh, shut up, Gil.” You muttered, making your brother chuckle. A few minutes of silence wedged between you and Gilbert, but the music continued to play throughout the room. It wasn’t until the song was halfway over did Gilbert speak up.

“So, what did Khrushchev want?” Gilbert asked in an almost inaudible whisper, barely moving his lips.  _ Now is the time for seriousness. _

He was trying not to let his words get picked up by eavesdroppers or his lips to be seen moving by suspicious officials. Even if every one of the officials in the room was Russian-speaking, it didn’t cancel out the possibility that they knew German as well. Any one of them could be a spy. You decided to follow in Gilbert’s cautious footsteps and keep your voice low and undetectable.

“He’s planning something in Cuba. Something big and ugly.” You said in the same voice. “He asked me for more far-ranged missiles with precise accuracy to hit their target.”

“Cuba...?” Gilbert asked himself slowly before asking you. “Isn’t that off the coast of America?”

“Yes.” You paused before continuing after two officials walked past you and Gilbert. “It’s a communist island run by some Soviet puppet by the name of Fidel Castro. He plans on striking the U.S. capital if NATO strikes Moscow or if they make any military advances into any of the Warsaw pact countries.”

Gilbert didn’t make any facial expressions while he heard this, not wanting to appear dubious to the men and women in the room. His pulse increased in speed, but he controlled his physical self the best he could. His mind, however, was a sky full of chilling, red fireworks.

Another official and his wife were making their way towards the two of you. You kept your mouth shut until they were away from you and Gilbert.

“Apparently, Alfred and NATO already have their preparations set up on the borders of the Warsaw countries and the Soviet Union.” You told him. Gilbert finally replied after a moment.

“Damn.” He said under his breath in disbelief. “This is a war just ready to happen. All they need is one man dead on either side and thus springs the attack. I-- It’s like an American draw.”

You hummed quietly in agreement. Gilbert then glanced down at you but did not move his head.

“What did you say?” He asked, wanting to know what your answer to the Red leader’s request was.

“What could I say?” You sighed, troublingly, blinking slowly. “He was going to make my scientists and engineers produce them and then take the damn things away from me anyways.”

Gilbert was silent for a moment and then exhaled quietly.

“Communist is as communist does.” He sighed as he tightened his crossed arms. You smiled a little and sighed a defeated laugh from your nose.

“You know h-- he didn’t stop me when I insulted Khrushchev.” You mumbled, seeming a bit baffled and sedated with your words.

“Braginski?”

You nodded.

“You’re furthering my point when I told you that you had power over that Ruski.” Gilbert said, almost hissing at the end of his sentence. “Trust me, (Y/n), you have him leashed like a hound.”

“I guess so.” You concluded with a frustrated exhale, lidding your eyes a bit more.

  
  
  
  


A few minutes after you replied to Gilbert, the music stopped. The song was over and so was the dance. There was an applaud from the dancers and the groups of chatting people. You picked your gaze up from the floor to see that the men and women that were dancing were retreating back into the crowds, perhaps to grab a drink or take a rest from the rhythm.

“Christ! Took them long enough.” Gilbert mumbled, happy that the distasteful music was rid from the air. Unfortunately for him, the melody wasn’t instantly erased from his memory. “They don’t know a damn thing about music. How could they applaud such shit?” He spat his comment quietly, raising his hand faintly. Looking up at him, you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth upturn for a moment at his remarks, not exactly giving a full smile.

He dipped his head down to you and smirked with you to share the humor, but as soon as he did, his attention was snatched from him. His eyes darted to an approaching figure that you had not yet noticed. Though Gilbert’s eyes were a fiery red, they held so much coldness towards this person.

You followed your brother’s cold attention and saw that it was Ivan. He was making his way over to you. The wooden floor shook from the coming waves of his boots. Only until he was in conversational distance did he stop walking.

“(Y/n), they will be starting the music again in just a moment.” Ivan started, sounding a bit more upbeat than earlier. You had to look up at him after he spoke, willing and ready to hear whatever snark scoff he had to make. But that’s not exactly what happened.

Ivan beamed down at you with a mellow smile; so were his eyes. He only focused on you and not so much Gilbert. Ivan must have still been aflame from him after the heated interaction.  _ Both of them were. _

“Do you mind joining me in this next dance?” Ivan asked slowly, cocking his head slightly.

Your eyes widened and then narrowed, but for a moment, your heart shot straight up your throat. His proposal was much to your suspicion, not to mention how silly it was. But it also plundered your mind with confusion. You thought that it was best to ask him. They weren’t questions you could answer on your own.

“She doesn’t dance with women.” Said Gilbert who had his red eyes piercing viciously at Ivan, striking him with the insult.

Taking the offense, Ivan shifted only his eyes at your brother, his smile dimming into a scowl as he furrowed his brows in annoyance. You could hear Ivan quietly exhale through his hooked nose and Gilbert clench his teeth within his mouth.  _ Shit, they’re going to fight! _ You thought as a pale hand of fear clutched your chest.

You had to come up with a decision and fast. Not in a million years would you want to engage into a dance with Ivan. You wouldn’t ever want to. In fact, you would rather have your head bashed in. To let people see you, a so called Nazi nation, dance with a cherished Russian thug. God, the amount of laughs, points, and eyes... But for the fucking love of God, you did not want Gilbert to go home with a broken nose for a damn insult.

Deciding quickly and cautiously, you stepped in, afraid that the two might throw punches. Sighing, you spoke up.

“Let’s not make a fight over this.” You warned the both of them. “Gilbert,” You started regrettably, not wanting to let the words slip from your mouth, “I don’t think one dance will hurt.”

Gilbert’s brows furrowed and his overall expression twisted in disbelief at you. He couldn’t believe the words you were saying. He darted a glare at Ivan and then back to you after releasing a scoff from his throat, pushing himself off the wall.

“You’re joking, right?” He asked you, hoping that it was just a jest. Silence poured between all three of you for a moment as Gilbert took several glances from you and Ivan.

“I’ll be right with you, Braginski.” You murmured halfheartedly to Ivan, not looking at him. Like a pleased serpent, you could feel Ivan smile from just the few steps he was away from you.

“Very well.” He replied, and without another word, he walked away. He did, however, exchange a nasty and stern glare with Gilbert who returned the same gesture. Once he was gone, Gilbert spoke.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grunted, almost gritting his teeth through his pale lips. Furrowing your brows regrettably, you dared to look up at him. Pushing yourself off the wall, you turned fully to your brother, straightening yourself to look more than serious with him.

“I’m keeping you from getting into a fight, Gil.” You replied justly. The albino scoffed once more.

“Christ, (Y/n), it’s going to happen sooner or later. There’s no stopping that fucking bastard from stepping on me like some bug.” Gilbert said, shaking his head as he blinked.

“And I’m not going to let that happen.” You warned, making it sound like a threatened promise. Sighing with a growl in your throat.

“Look.” You began, sounding pressured, bringing you voice down to a whisper. Your stomach fluttered with acidic liquid, sloshing around in the organ, making you antsy. “I need to extract some information from him.”

“What information?” Gilbert asked quickly and quietly.

“Do you remember when you told me that I had power over him?” You asked.

“Yes.” Gilbert answered, raising a curious brow.

“Well, if it is possible, I could earn some kind of trust from him,” You started, “And he’d be bound to slip some kind of information about a way out of the Union. A route or an area that has less surveillance that we could possibly escape from.”

Gilbert stopped you for a moment. “(Y/n), I don’t think he’d spill anything to you in one night. Ivan is a tricky cunt with a mind like a fucking fox.”

“I don’t expect him to give me anything tonight. Finding a way out of here will take time, but it’s the buildup that matters, Gil.” You smiled slyly. “Ivan has given me information before, and that was out of pure weakness to my willpower.”

Gilbert stared at you for a moment. His mind traced back everything that was said to him and he thought of the outcome. He wanted to get out of here; away from the satellite prison. However, he couldn’t help but feel like he was afraid. He was frightened of the thought of being caught trying to escape with you. Never would he want to witness you getting held in place as a Soviet guard abused your face. Never would he want to lay his red eyes upon the mess of blood dripping from your chin and your split lips. It was a nightmare he never wanted to come true.

But God, how he wanted to see and be with Ludwig again. It had been too long since he had run his fingers through his younger brother’s blond hair, to feel its angelic smoothness. He would take bullets just to fall into a warm embrace with Ludwig. He would kiss him and silently cry out of pure joy. Ludwig was everything to Gilbert; a son almost. And, in conclusion, he would risk his soul for him.

Gilbert blinked slowly and sighed through his nose. Since you had dealt with shenanigans like this in the past, he trusted that you would be careful and secretive about this. He agreed with your motive, but he wasn’t going to let go of his alert if this was going to pursue. As the older brother, it was his responsibility to keep you safe and sound. He knew you could protect yourself, but there was always that possibility...

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He told you, his face holding such grim features.

You decided to give him the same message, engulfing your expression to an assuring dourness. You uncrossed your arms and Gilbert did the same. Gently, you took his hand and squeezed it. He returned the gesture. And with that, a humble and relaxed song began to emit and slip from the corner of the room.

“I don’t.” You replied, being completely honest. And you let go, heading straight towards Ivan who was patiently waiting by the empty dancefloor.

He was scanning and overlooking the floor as a few people filed through the crowds and made their way onto the floor. Already they were dancing. Ivan quickly turned his head towards you after scrutinizing the space thoroughly. Smiling, he had to tilt his head down in order to meet your attention.

You looked up at him for a moment, signalling him that you were ready. Ivan placed a hand on your waist, guiding you with him to the floor. 

As he did this, Ivan gazed over his shoulder to see Gilbert who was leaning against the wall again. His arms were crossed in an aggressive lock and his red, hissing eyes were fixed onto the Russian. His pale lips were shaped into a harsh and unforgiving scowl. Gilbert’s entire aura was radiating hate for the man, and Ivan could only give him the same look.

Luckily, there weren’t as many people dancing this time, which gave you and Ivan a good amount of space. There wouldn’t be any shoving or bumping with other engagers. For you, it would be less claustrophobic, but it wouldn’t make a difference since Ivan would have you pulled close to him.

Once you reached a reasonable placement, you and Ivan stopped. Ivan let go of your waist as soon as your inched to turn towards him. It was a struggle for you to get yourself to face him and you looked anywhere he wasn’t. But you had to if you were going to dance with him.  _ And possibly rip some information from him… _

Ivan glanced down at the hand that was at your side and reached for it, taking it into his grasp. He gripped your firmly, but not too hard. He expected the limp and loose grasp you returned in his hand. The leather gloves felt cold and stiff on your bare hands. But it surprisingly wasn’t unbearable.

Handling the situation delicately, Ivan advanced his movements and put a hand on your side. Carefully, he pulled you a bit closer to him. You were practically touching each other’s torsos, and that made your cheeks blush slightly out of embarrassment.  _ And I said I would laugh at the image of me dancing with a Soviet… _

All that you had to do was place your hand on his arm. Slowly, you reached up and put your hand loosely on his arm, not wanting to press any feeling on him. No tenderness, no anger. You just didn’t want to be in this dilemma. But in order to get the information and Ivan off your brother’s back, you had to put yourself in this consequence.

Just faintly could you pick up the gentle chuckle from Ivan’s chest, definitely from your humiliation. He couldn’t help but smile down with lazy, purple eyes.

“Should we start moving?” He cooed, taking great pleasure in making you uncomfortable. There was no reply from you, but the long silence cued him to get on with it. Ever so easily and gradually, you both started to waltz.

It was a bit difficult to keep up with him since his legs were much longer than yours. You also weren’t familiar with the dance. But Ivan allowed you to move as you could, providing you with the time to adjust to the tolerable rhythm. All you could do was mimic his boots. 

It was a bit strange that he was so lenient on you for the past couple of months. It was definitely noticeable. But every time you mentally questioned Ivan’s actions and behavior, Gilbert would shoot it down and tell you that you were gaining power over him with your defiant activity. Though that may have been one of the reasons, you couldn’t help but feel that it was also something else; something that you couldn’t put your finger on. And it was something Ivan was effectively smothering you with.

With nothing but awkward silence and the song streaming between you and Ivan, he decided to finally speak. He didn’t want to solely dance with you. He thought that this would be the perfect time to ask about you. After sixteen years, he thought that now you were starting to open up and become a bit more moldable with your character.

“I see my sister got to you.” He said with a bit of a hum. Obviously, he was referring to the makeup, which made you get a little heated from embarrassment. You hoped that he wasn’t going to point it out, but he went ahead and did it anyways.

“I had no choice.” You murmured, giving him an honest excuse. “She summoned me to her room without warning me.”

“It doesn’t look bad if that what you want to hear.” He chuckled as you both turned. Releasing some flickering heat from your ears, you clenched your teeth.

“I could care less how it looks, Ivan.” You replied lowly, almost trailing off.

“Well, I think it looks nice.” He said in a low tone, sounding humble. You let the compliment slide off your brain like rain on a tin roof. There was a brief pause between you two before he spoke again. “Is your brother enjoying his time?”

“He’s stuck to a wall. How would you feel?” You growled in a conversational hush.

“Details.” Ivan said in a sing-song voice.

You raised a brow for a moment, getting impatient, and opened your mouth before finding the right words.

“He said he hates the music.” You said. “He can’t stand it.”

Ivan smiled. “I thought your brother loved music like this.”

“No.” You shook your head a little, smiling on the corners of your mouth. “Not like this. Gilbert is a huge critique of music, and this he doesn’t like.”

Ivan tilted his head down at you. “Is it not Germanic enough for him?”

“Yes.” You concluded. Another few turns of silence.

“What about you?” Ivan asked softly, cocking his head. You narrowed your eyes and turned your head up to read him. He was starting to pry into you with personal questions. You blinked for a second, determining whether or not to allow him to do so. You answered him.

“Not really a fan of Slavic music. I’m a bit of a critique myself I would say.” You replied breathily. “After living with my brothers for most of the Mozart and Beethoven years, I have grown quite accustomed to that very style.”

“Do you play?” Ivan asked as you both turned again. You shrugged lightly.

“Just the violin and piano.” You suspiciously glared at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Shouldn’t you know everything about me already since you have an entire classified file just about me?” You said slowly, poking at his intentions.

“Not exactly, pet.” Ivan said as you both turned. “I’ve only recorded information about your family and your militant achievements and skills.”

“And by skills you only mean languages and combat?” You raised a brow in curiosity.

“Well, yes.” Ivan replied. “But I never took the time to look into your personal abilities.”

“I can understand why.” You mumbled, lowering your head. Ivan cocked his head, his violet eyes peered out from under the brim of his hat.

“Why?” Ivan asked, not quite apprehending what you meant.

“What use could playing an instrument bring to an army?” You scoffed with a hiss. Silence.

“I take it that Gilbert taught you the art of music.” The Russian pryed.

“I wish…” You muttered. Ivan dropped his eyes onto you again. His brows furrowed in confusion, but his lips were fixed into a faint smile.

“Gilbert didn’t teach you?” Ivan murmured interestedly.

“No...”

“Ludwig then?”

“No...”

“Then, who taught you?” Ivan asked, really seeming to desire to know. As crossed as you could possibly get with him tonight, you released the answer.

“Roderich…”

“You say his name so negatively.” Ivan noted, narrowing his eyes. His smile retreated to just a faint smirk.

“I’ll have you know, Ivan, that Roderich and I don’t really see things eye to eye.” You huffed indifferently, your expression becoming clouded with apathy. “He was just too...arrogant for me.”

“And yet you asked for violin and piano lessons from him.” Ivan leered, jumping to his conclusion.

“I didn’t ask him.” You replied lowly, gazing up at the Russian, making eye contact. He was no longer smiling. He looked completely intrigued. “Gilbert wanted me to learn from him.”

“Why?”

“It was no secret that Roderich and I didn’t get along. Anyone could see that when we’re in the same room together.” You sighed. “We had gotten into so many disagreements and so many verbal fights. One day, Gilbert took me to the bastard’s home and pushed me over to the piano. My brother thought that if we were ever going to get along, it would have to be through doing something we both had a feel for.”

“And did it work out?” Ivan asked, his grip on your hand became firmer. You twitched a quick and sarcastic smile.

“Well, I learned to play.” You said softly, dismissing the fact that you and Roderich still failed to agree with each other. Ivan chuckled gently in his throat, causing you to look up at him.

“If there’s one thing you and your brother share, it’s your humor.” Ivan said in a poisonously sweet tone. “It’s definitely something Ludwig never picked up.”

“And you hate it.” You mumbled, furrowing your brows in irritation. Ivan hummed in uncertainty before answering.

“Mm… Sometimes I do; sometimes I don’t.” Ivan said tenderly. “I usually find it sort of amusing.”

You paused, not saying anything for a moment. Perhaps it was the statement the Russian had just made, but you felt like you were giving away too much of yourself too soon. This wasn’t how you planned the conversation would go. It frightened you that Ivan was digging into your confidential side. Grabbing the reins of the horse, you threw some questions at him in return.

Tilting your head up, you eyed Ivan’s scarf, but didn’t say anything. That is until he saw you looking at him yieldingly.

“What is it?” He cooed, his pale lips springing a smile.

“Did Katyusha really give you the scarf?” You asked slowly, nodding to his scarf, trying not to cross him. Steadily, Ivan’s stature gripped itself. The way his skin temperature shifted from a warm, pleasant hue to a horrific, icy color made your mind raise red flags. His brows dipped into a defensive and vexed shape as his eyes filled with both shock and rage. Something you hoped wasn’t going to happen.

“Who told you that?” He growled harshly. His grip on you was tightening. Even the hand on your side was taking on the element of iron.

“Easy, Ivan. Katyusha told me.” You replied, squeezing his hand, telling him to relax. Ivan only stared at you angrily for the next couple of moments before he shifted his eyes towards his sister. She was within his sights; about thirty feet away, talking among several men. He sighed.

“I’m afraid she has a curse.” He grunted regrettably. Frustration was the only emotion you could pin him with.

“The talking?” You cocked your head and softened your eyes. Ivan nodded, taking occasional glances at his sister. You inhaled deeply.

“Well, if it’s something you don’t want to spread from person to person,” You said gently, “then I won’t say anything.” Steadying his pace, Ivan slowed his waltzing with you, narrowing his violet eyes at you. His upper lip scowled.

“And you think I’ll trust you?” He said on one note, his tone billowing into a venomous tone. Giving him a querulous appearance, you smiled playfully, seeing that you had him mentally off balance.

“Well, it seems you have some sort of trust in me.” You said with a content smirk, mimicking Ivan’s words from a week ago.

Blinking for a moment, Ivan took hot, shallow breaths. By the looks of it, Ivan was rubbing his teeth back and forth behind his lips. He was thinking.

Ivan couldn’t believe what he was listening to; blackmailed by his own prisoner.  _ Not a good position. _ In his head, he debated. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to give you a proper punishment. Not now. Not ever for this sort of thing. There was no way he was going to be able to silence you incase you sputtered something out to your brother.

But something held him back from his harsh retribution. He had to blame his sister for the mess; not you. You just so happened to be fed the information by Katyusha, and he knew that you were too nice to leave the room. And, he had to admit, she was a bit of a blabbering woman. But he loved her too much to confront her in the future. Her problem couldn’t be helped. There was nothing he could do but ease himself.

“How much has she told you?” He asked neutrally.

“She just told me that the scarf was hers and she gave it to you.” You assured. Then, you furrowed your brows at him. “I don’t see what the big fuss is here, Braginski.”

For a time, the Russian went quiet as if he were pondering again, but a smile crept onto his face after chuckling defeatedly.

“Neither do I.” He said silently. Then, he shook his head. “Forgive me for getting defensive. Kat can sometimes get on my nerves when she...talks about me.”

You nodded hesitantly.

“And the answer is yes. She did give it to me. A nice thing of her to do, nyet?” Ivan added.

For a moment, you almost stumbled when Ivan moved a bit too quickly, nearly tripping over his feet. Quick to react, Ivan’s grip became tighter as if to keep you from falling, helping you regain some over your balance and rhythm. A breathy and minimal laugh escaped his lips as he peered down at you under the brim of his hat. An embarrassing pink seethed across your cheeks.

“I-- never see you take it off.” You said, attempting to forget the little incident that had just happened. Narrowing your eyes at him, you pried. “Why?”

After letting the question reach his ears, Ivan chuckled as if he were engaged in some kind of game.

“A bit of an interrogator tonight, are we?” He laughed, his sweet smile stretching, exposing his teeth. You raised a scrutinizing brow, becoming quite annoyed from his hard shell.  _ I thought this would be easier. _

“Well, you’ve been as much as an interrogator yourself this evening, Braginski.” You pointed out in a low murmur, trying to cover up the fact that you were being unmasked.

“But who’s the better detective? Hm?” He cooed as you felt his thumb rub on the back of your hand. You could only stare at him, wondering if he knew your intentions.  _ Sure, he would know.  _ He’s done the same interrogations on you before. Why not be familiar with the action?

“You’re so snide.” You said with stern hue in your eyes, a bit disheartened and frustrated that he wasn’t budging. A sense of confidence was slipping from your mission, but strangely enough, you didn’t mind the loss. It was only minor.

“Is that a good or a bad thing, pet?” He asked. A brief, few seconds passed and you closed your eyes, shaking your head. Your lips were shyly smiling out of annoyance and good-sportsmanship, and some content.

“I would advise you to consider it an advantage for a man such as yourself.” You replied somewhat passive-aggressively. With his smile shrinking and instead taking a curious and dour shape, Ivan gave you his full attention. Your expression threw him off more than he wanted to.

“And what kind of man do you see me as?” Ivan asked slowly, taking his time with the projecting of his question as he slowed his waltzing dramatically.

He deliberately sounded absorbed to your answer. A bit taken aback by his inquiry, you stared at him alert in your eyes. It was quite frightening to see that he was being completely serious, desiring more than just a snarky insult to hiss from your lips. He wanted something much more...damning to slip along your tongue and to his ear. Incriminating yourself is what he pushed for.

Those eyes of his were weighted on you. It was hypnotic almost. It was impossible to break such a gaze into one’s eyes. Everything; the music, the Slavic chatter, the clinking of glass was drowned out by the utter, screaming silence between you and Ivan. For the love of God, you couldn’t hear anything but the soft breathing from Ivan’s hooked nose and the pulsing of blood in your head.

And, incredibly, your brain couldn’t render to the question. You were knocked onto your feet by a simple inquiry that you could have answered in a heartbeat.  _ An asshole. A jackass. A scoundrel. A fucking nobody for Christ’s sake, (Y/n)! Say it! _

But you couldn’t. You wanted to give him a neutral answer; even a positive one. A complimentary answer! And, ever so ironically, the music slowed and ended. The dance was over.

Even then, you were both unfazed by the song’s ending, not seeming to take interest in the absence of music and the clapping. However, you and Ivan had stopped dancing. Slowly and gracefully, he lowered your hand and took the longest time to remove his hand from yours, as well as the hand on your side. That one was the toughest for him. He was hesitant to do so. You did the same when removing your hand from his arm.

Now, you both just stood there on the dance floor, staring at each other thoughtfully and daringly. With the urging silence, Ivan found the situation to be tense, but not painfully and uncomfortably straining. For you, it may have been, but to a degree to where it was unsustainable.

This tensity was alluring and marinating in depth. It was attractive to him and he sensed a peculiar liking to it. His appearance towards you had absolutely no mockery or teasing. In fact, he was intrigued, churned by your openness and discovered...something he couldn’t quite define. He knew he wasn’t going to get this answer tonight, but he knew it planted itself deep into the soil of your brain.  _ It will sprout. _ He thought.

“Ivan, darling!” Said a seductive, feminine, yet hot-tempered voice. Quickly, Ivan turned his head to see that Sabrina had approached him, butting between you and Ivan. You took note of her entrance. Something seemed a bit off about her. She seemed to be much more fluttery, possibly the result of alcohol consumption. She took glances from you to Ivan repeatedly, her ugly, blue eyes were much more sharp on you.

“The music will start again soon.” She said, turning to Ivan. “Do you mind having this next dance with me?”

She then turned her attention towards you, but kept her conversation with Ivan.

“That is if your...military girl doesn’t mind shooing away for a moment.” She said sweetly, her eyes burning holes into you as her smile transformed into a officious simper. Her facial expressions were anything but inviting towards you. She talked to you as if you were a child.

Ivan was silent and, strangely, continued to look at you with an unchanged expression, not seeming to be interested or even moved by Sabrina’s entrance. You stared back at him for a few more moments and sighed. And before you knew it, you were back to your indifferent state, appearing as bored and judgemental.

“He’s all yours...” You mumbled to her in Russian as you turned and walked off, but not in Gilbert’s direction.

In fact, you couldn’t see him from all of the blocking heads and bodies of green. Without Gilbert in your sights, you couldn’t think about him. You couldn’t render a single thought or image of your brother; not with the bewildering question that slipped from the Russian’s lips. All that you wanted at the moment was a half-hour of solitude. The music started again.

  
  
  


Ivan watched you as you left him and Sabrina. He even kept his gaze in your direction as you disappeared into the deep, Soviet green.

His brows were both stern and soft; a most puzzling shape to say the least. He wasn’t angry nor was he irritated by your refusal to answer him. He felt even more entranced by your silence. What really hooked his interest was your reaction.

The staggering look that bloomed on your face was something Ivan had never seen before. And to a question like that! You could have said anything offensive and ill-mannered to him. You had every chance to make such an offhanded remark. And yet you didn’t, which spiked his curiosity.

“Ivan?” Sabrina said in a sing-song tone, causing Ivan to look at her smiling self. “The dance?”

“Oh...yes, right.” Ivan said with hesitation, slow to bring himself smirk. But even the shallow smile that he produced held some uninterest.

Sabrina, with pushiness in her movements, took Ivan’s gloved hand and held it up. Then, she grabbed Ivan’s other hand and pushed it to her side. Noticing this assertiveness, Ivan’s expression became much more surprised and wide-eyed. And with one push from her body, he was forced to dance along with her. This song was much more fast paced; something Ivan was not in the mood for.

Ivan then turned his head in your direction, his eyes searching and skimming through the crowds. Darting left and right, he tried spotting a spot of black in the evergreen trees. But nothing was showing up.

Noticing his distractedness, Sabrina spoke up, snapping him out of his hunt.

“So, Ivan.” Sabrina said, almost chirping like a bird just to get his attention. “I heard that girl is a Nazi, or that is what my father and brother tell me.”

“Uh-- yes.” Ivan replied, turning his head in your direction again. Sabrina’s eyes only dug deeper into his head when she saw that he was distracted again. This made her fume.

“Isn’t it a bit strange for you to ask a Nazi to dance then?” She scoffed, raising a brow. Ivan glanced at her for only a moment, just to flash her a smile before skimming his eyes through the ocean of people.

“Well, it is a party. Everyone is supposed to enjoy their time.” He said slowly. “Putting our weapons aside for a bit of a breather.”

“But she is undesirable of your time!” Sabrina laughed alluringly. “I mean, really, Ivan. A powerful man like you with a fascist tramp like that?”

Shifting his head back to her, he furrowed his brows irritatedly. Something was up with Sabrina...and he could take a guess at what is was and why.

“Are you-- assuming that she and I have chemistry?” He growled, his grip loosening on her. His dancing became slower. She did not like that.

“I’m not assuming anything.” She fluffed with pure jealousy. “I just think it’s ridiculous that you would dance with her out of all people!”

Ivan sighed shallowly and turned his head in your direction. Sabrina cocked his head at him and leaned her head towards his line of sight, trying to catch his attention.

“You’re so distracted! What are you looking for?” Sabrina complained, shaking her head as her blue eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed into an ugly glower.

An itching claw scratched and streaked across Ivan’s brain, nagging him to leave. He wanted to get the answer from you. He had to hear it. He had to hear it, because you couldn’t answer. You hesitated. You choked down the insults. Why?

Ivan had to find you.

“Forgive me, Sabrina, but…” Ivan glanced several times in your direction and in Sabrina’s. “I’m afraid I have to attend to something.”

And without another word uttered to her, Ivan ripped himself from the woman, leaving her on the dancefloor, alone.

“What!?” She whined as Ivan separated himself from her, walking in your direction.

Entering the sea of green, Ivan’s eyes frantically scanned the crowds for a black uniform as he casually stalked among the groups of people. But his rummaging only lead him to a dead end. You were nowhere to be seen.

Then, he remembered. Gilbert. You could have returned to him again.  _ Where else would she rather be? _

Trying to relax his pulse and his festering mind, Ivan walked stiffly in the direction of the entrance. After filing through a few groups of people, Gilbert was in his sights. He leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, keeping his eyes to the floor, avoiding any interactions with the guests. But...you weren’t there with him. He was alone.

Ivan’s brain pricked itself, realising that you were missing, even from your brother’s side. Desperate for your location, Ivan harshened his appearance and strode up to the albino. Gilbert lifted his eyes from the floor when he perceived Ivan’s approach. The German’s expression immediately became grim.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Gilbert growled after noticing your absence. His eyes widened slightly out of panic.

“I was hoping you would know.” Ivan returned with a mumble. Gilbert’s eyes widened even more and his upper lip curled in aggression. His heart jolted and his arms uncrossed, taking his back off the wall.

“You’ve lost her!?” Gilbert exclaimed in a hushed voice. Ivan furrowed his brows at him and sighed sharply through his nose.

“No-- dammit!” Ivan huffed. “Just-- are you sure you haven’t seen her?” He asked, lowering his tone. Gilbert crossed his arms again slowly, holding a narrowed and unforgiving glare on the Russian nation.

“No.” Gilbert replied, but that wasn’t all he had to say. “But maybe you should have assigned me to the babysitting job.” He mocked in all of his severe aspect.

With the tips of his ears burning red hot, Ivan’s scowl took an even deeper definition of livid. Receiving insults from you was something he was used to, but getting them from Gilbert wasn’t, even after dealing with each other for hundreds of years.

However, though he wished to smack the German upside the head, he had to let this go. He had to find you even if no one was going to be reliable.

Scoffing angrily, Ivan turned and stormed off, unable to deal with your brother. Gilbert held a heavy scowl on Ivan as he strode into the crowds in search of you. This glare only broke when Ivan could no longer be seen.

Minutes passed. No luck. Ivan looked everywhere in the ballroom and he could not spot you. You had vanished into thin air. Internally, Ivan began to get worried. His mind flipped through several explanations as to where you might have run off to.

You couldn’t have run away; not while Gilbert was still here. You wouldn’t go anywhere without him. It was highly unlikely that you would speak with any other officials. You hated just about everyone here.

_ “Officials…”  _ Ivan thought after he mentally mentioned the Soviet administrators and officers. Then, it hit him. _ “The guards. They had to have seen her.” _

Several of the watchmen were standing at nearly every window. That way, they had a good overview of the room to watch for foul play. Monitoring every person in the room was their number one priority. They were the number one observers of the evening. If anyone was going to know where you were, it was them.

Choosing the nearest guard, Ivan walked over to him. The watchman immediately noticed the nation approaching him. His stature stiffened and straightened, seeing that Ivan still had a grim appearance.

“Have you seen Beilschmidt?” Ivan said to the guard, keeping his voice low. The guard nodded faintly.

“She’s out on the balcony. She’s been out there for ten minutes, sir.” The guard replied in the same hushed tone.

Ivan’s heart fluttered with some relief. Now, all he had to do was find you there.

“Very good.” He smirked to the guard and turned around. He headed straight towards the balcony doors which were just a few yards away from him. The area around the doors were vacant and no one stood near it except for two guards on either side.

The balcony had double doors with wooden frames to the glass squares. The little, glass squares were solid black. It was extremely dark outside; darker than when they first arrived. He gripped one of the handles to the doors and peered out into the darkness of the windows before entering the balcony. It didn’t help that your uniform camouflaged you in the void of the night.

Ivan opened the door just enough to let himself out and stepped into the cold. A nippy temperature greeted his cheeks and nose, kissing is skin. His eyes were blind for a moment, but his pupils dilated and adjusted to the dark.

Luckily, some of the light from the ballroom windows illuminated the surrounding area. Several street lamps down on the ground outlined the balcony’s stone guard rails. Snowflakes were falling one at a time like white dove feathers. It was an extremely light snow. The moon was hidden behind the ebony stormclouds, unable to glow through the gloom.

Scanning the outline of the guard rail from left to right, he spotted a figure near the far right corner of the stone. It was you. You were not facing him. In the dark, Ivan could see you glance out of the corner of your eye with a faint turn of your head. You were leaning forward onto the flat, stone rail, holding yourself up with your forearms and with one locked leg. The other one slouched. It was a stance of troubled thought.

Gently closing the balcony door behind him, Ivan slowly walked over to you. He didn’t know if you were angry or if you would lash out, so he took his time to reach you. But he did know that you heard his entrance. As he got closer, he could see your (h/l), (h/c) hair had caught a few snowflakes in their strands.

Carefully, Ivan reached the rail and stood next to you, placing his hands on the stone. Though he couldn’t feel the composition of the stone, he could feel the icy coldness of it through the leather of his gloves. You had to have been freezing with your body leaning on the stone.

It was silent for the few seconds that you and Ivan stood there. The music that orchestrated inside the building was muffled. The noises of Moscow could be heard in the distance. Dogs barked, sirens wailed like alley cats, some few people shouted at one another many miles away. Up close, however, there was the soft pitter-patter of the snow wisping to the ground and the roof. It almost sounded like the starting of rain.

“Are you cold?” Ivan asked after noticing that his breath fogged in front of him, not looking directly at you.

“No.” You replied after a moment, staring at the snow covered cobblestone pavement below. Silence again.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with that whore?” You said after some time. Ivan chuckled in his chest.

“I lost interest.” He replied, smiling. You picked up your gaze and looked straight ahead.

“You know what she looks like?” You said to Ivan in a low mumble. Ivan looked down at you, seeing that you were still indifferent, yet silently uneased. “Have you ever seen a horse with blue eyes?”

Ivan laughed aloud, inhaled sharply, and then resoluted his laughter. The comparison between what you just described and Sabrina was most hysterical. At the moment, Ivan did not care if you were scorning Volkov’s daughter. She irritated him.

Not a single giggle emitted from you. Silence settled in again and Ivan dropped his smile.

“Why did you come out here?” He asked gently. You took your time before answering.

“I didn’t feel like returning to Gilbert. I just-- needed to step out for a moment.”

Ivan lidded his eyes halfway. He knew you were off-balance. It was what made you leave.

“You never answered my question from earlier.” Ivan said, raising a brow, tilting his head to get your attention.

At first, you didn’t react. But then, you turned your head slightly and lazily looked up at him. He was giving you the same look as when he asked you the question; stern as can be. Then, you returned your gaze to the ground below.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to stop pestering you until you slipped him the answer, you sighed. Part of you was praying that Sabrina would walk out onto the balcony and interrupt you and Ivan and take him inside. But you weren’t going to be saved this time.

However, there was another part of you that had an opposite approach. This other half wanted you to be truthful to him and you weren’t quite sure why. If you had to make an accusation, it was that Ivan was becoming more lenient and transparent towards you. And it made you push to be the same way towards him. You knew that it was a big mistake. Trust or no trust, Ivan was a draconian being with a sly, traitorous, and brutal reputation. And yet, you were beginning to rely on him.

“Can I ask you something first…?” You murmured quietly after considering your thoughts. Ivan held his silence, hinting to you that he was listening. You turned your face to him fully, your brows furrowed with concern for the answer you were going to receive.

“Do you pity me?” You asked him in whisper.

Ivan grew still. His violet irises became paler in contrast. His lips parted for a second, but it reverted back to a severe line. His jaw clenched. He stared at you and turned his head in the other direction and walked away for a few steps as if he were thinking to himself. You heard him sigh and tilt his head down. He faced you again and walked back a little.

“Recently, I have…” He growled, not wanting to admit the answer. It was a mistake for him to let you notice his streak of leniency on you. Unfortunately for him, you figured it out. You let a few seconds pass and you nodded, looking at the cobblestone ground again. It was your turn.

“You wanna know the truth, Ivan?” You said as you turned to him fully, standing up straight and taking yourself off of the rail. You looked at him the same way you did the night you thanked him. This made Ivan’s heart jolt. He was taking you seriously.

“I’m not exactly sure what kind of a man you are.” You said, but you weren’t finished. You only paused. “I’ve spent nearly sixteen years of my life around you and I’ve learned so little about your functionalities. When you first dragged me here, I expected you to beat the life out of me for every step I took out of line. I expected you to do the most horrid things to me. And some things of which you did.”

You turned away from him and gazed into the darkness of the cobblestone. A smile was spreading across your lips, one that frightened the Russian.

“And then you go and build a fucking wall around my country, one that exceeded your fantasies at dominating my existence. I bled. I suffered. And you were free to do as you wished with me. But...you didn’t. I was at the hand of your mercy, which I never even believed was real. I still reject that it was real. And you even go as far as to reunite me with my brother, which wasn’t even on your damn agenda.”

Your throat almost tightened, but you didn’t dare to let your eyes water. You were too angry.

“And I thanked you. And, Christ, I fucking hate you! Hell, I told you that I play the violin and the piano and that I hate my fucking cousin, Roderich!” You mumbled. “But what confuses me the most is that you treat everyone else, my brother for fuck’s sake, like fucking shit! And yet you don’t lay a single hand on me unless it’s for lust. And now you’d rather be around me than to waltz around and possibly get lucky tonight with that trollop. One minute you’re scolding me, and the other, you’re taking my side. Against your own lieutenant that has killed too many of my specialists in your name! For your approval!”

You turned your head to him, smiling troublingly.

“I guess I don’t know you well enough to answer that question yet.” You concluded, studying his face. It was an expression you didn’t expect. The Russian was stiffer than usual. His purple eyes were wide and startled with surprise that you would answer like that. His jaw was still clenched.

He expected a cover up of some offensive name calling. His blood rush turned into deadly rapids, pumping in and out of his scampering heart. He couldn’t believe what you were confessing. His realization smacked him upside the head, but he didn’t know how to word it correctly without tripping over his other thoughts and conclusions. It was too much for him at the moment.

Internally, the blood in your veins was cold and sharp. It stabbed your heart with every beat. You felt that you were putting yourself at risk for this. It was dangerous that you were letting too much of yourself go. This personal information was crucial to you even though it wasn’t. Speaking to the enemy about your interests… Getting friendly with a vicious brute that only wished to benefit himself. Having a full-blown conversation with him!

Seeing that Ivan had nothing to say, you turned back to the position he found you in, sighing. You realized what you just did was parlous, revealing yourself in such a way. Your heart trembling with anxiety, but your body was shivering stiffly from the freeze that your brain was completely oblivious to.

You heard Ivan shift and then walk closer until he was beside you once again. He only spoke until he placed a gentle, gloved hand on your shoulder.

“Come on inside. You’ll freeze out here.” He persuaded in a weary tone. You could tell that he was at an end with the conversation; unable to reply with anything. He was out of options.  _Just play it safe, Ivan._ He told himself.

Sighing and pushing yourself off of the rail, you obeyed him and walked with him, away from the balcony. He took his hand off you, but remained close. He opened the door for you and allowed you to step inside before him. He entered the ballroom as soon as you were in and closed the door. You noticed that he didn’t take the time to dust off the snowflakes that gathered on his uniform or his hat. You stood there with him, not sure what to do.

“You should accompany your brother. He will be wondering where you’ve been.” Ivan said. You raised a brow.

“Where will you be?"

“Explaining to my lieutenant why I may have left his daughter in a fuss.” He sighed with a pushed smile, hinting that he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Nodding at his request, you hesitated before leaving his side. Silently, you wanted to stay with him for a bit longer and you didn’t know why. Then, you walked off and ducked through the crowds, searching for a trail that lead to Gilbert.

_ Gilbert… _ You thought, saying his name in regret. You had let him down tonight. Nothing came out of Ivan that was useful. In fact, you had gotten so wrapped up in your own thoughts to even stay on target. No valuable information. You felt that Ivan had drained out more about you than you did from him. Maybe more… And the light at the end of the tunnel was going to be even further away if you were to continue to slip up like this.

But as you were passing a group of captains and lieutenants, someone roughly bumped shoulders with you. Well, more like your shoulder with an arm; a tall man’s arm.

The bump was such a shock and such a strong force that it cause you to turn around and see who the collider was. Your eyes narrowed as you saw a sickening surprise. It was a young man with a strong resemblance of Volkov. He had the same icy, steel-blue eyes, the diamond shaped head, the buzzcut, the same Russian smile. The same height! This young man was the spitting image of the Volkov that you once saw all those years ago.

The man frowned at you with pure murder in his eyes as if you had offended him. He stopped walking in his direction and instead stood there and glared at you over his shoulder. It was as if he were realizing who you were and scrutinizing you then and there. You glared at him as well, but not as severely. You appeared to be more surprised than aggressive and loathful.

Quickly, you decided to move on and turn away from the man. You still had to find Gilbert. He was the only person you wanted to be around for the rest of the night. You promised him.

 But as you walked away from him, your memory tapped you.  _ Volkov said he had a son. _ And this son of Volkov kept his vengeful eye on you until you were out of his sight. Only then did he turn away with his lethal instincts kept close to him.


	23. Slipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's my latest chapter and it is a good 18,000 words long. I'm extremely sorry for finishing it late. I meant to finish this chapter many weeks back, but I had to read two books, one being Crime and Punishment (<\--- this book is lit) and write an essay about both of them. But with school coming back into place, I think I will be back on track with my chapters (somehow school makes my chapters easier to write). On another note, I have created a Tumblr account where I am posting my Hetalia artwork. If you would like to follow me, I am called "The Kitty On Mars". Thank you guys again for all of the kudos, comments, and hits! I am so grateful that my work is really getting out there and I am so please that people love it! :') I literally get tears from the support. Well, without any further adieu, here's chapter 23! Enjoy!

November 20th, 1961   9:27 AM    Ivan’s manor

Toris slammed the lid of the trunk closed before turning his head to peer up at the front door. He shaded his eyes from the bright, morning sun that was just leaving the treeline. After checking to see if Ivan was at the door, which he was, let his hand drop to his side. At a relaxed pace, Toris walked away from the black car and up the front steps.

The snow that had fallen the night before and the early hours of that morning crunched beneath his shoes. Winter was definitely here. He approached the Russian once he was at the doorway.

“That’s everything.” Toris said humbly, fixing the end of his sleeve. Ivan only smiled tepidly.

“Alright then.” Ivan nodded. And just like that, his mood quickly took on another shape. “Go and fetch (Y/n). I don’t want it to be too late when we arrive in Moscow.”

The Lithuanian didn’t reply, but he immediately took up the command and stepped inside the large house. He didn’t have to search for you either. Knowing you for only a short time, he knew exactly where you would be at a time like this. Just an educated guess of his.

Toris strode up the stairs and walked down the many halls to get to Gilbert’s room. Along the way, Toris couldn’t help but take a moment to glance down one particular hallway. At the very end on the left, he could see the room Katyusha and Natalia stayed in. The door was open, but no light emitted from the room.

It had been two days since the two Braginski sisters packed up and left for their countries. They were gone as soon as they came. The ten days that they had stayed felt short which made Toris rather dismal. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone that he had something for the Belarusian woman, especially to Ivan.

It was sickening to Toris to think about ever being caught drooling over the Russian’s younger sister. He even took cautious measures to limit himself to the girl; only seeing her for short times and having conversations when he needed to. It was only until he knew he was alone with her did he advance his actions.

He never felt such a love for someone other than her. He thought that it was probably because he had been trapped in the manor for quite some time. His thought and description of a typical woman was long hair, a feminine build, and a height that was inches off of his. And the only one that came to mind was Natalia. It was only so often that he saw her. Years would fly by and he would only see her once or twice.

Toris was grateful that she didn’t let a word of this discreet love of theirs slip out of her lips to Ivan. There was no telling what Ivan would do if he found out, but Toris knew that the Russian wouldn't let it slide. Oh no.

The Lithuanian had received a broken nose, broken fingers, black eyes, and slaps to the cheek from the violet eyed man for petty accidents and unsatisfactory services. But Toris could recall the worst of the beatings when he committed a household crime that was most heinous. He would go weeks without food or water. His door locked and his windows nailed shut. An armed soldier would be standing guard outside of his room and two outside, below of his window.

That, however, wasn’t the worst part. It all came before that, before the locked room, before the guards and absence of food and water. Toris hated thinking about it, especially when Eduard and Ravis were dragged into the misdemeanor.

Sighing and taking his emerald eyes off of the darkened and empty room, he passed it up, walking off to Gilbert’s room. After traveling through the many halls, Toris finally made it to the Albino’s room. The door was wide open and a soft, German whispering began to flutter into Toris’s ears.

To him, the German language always sounded so rough and harsh, making his ears cringe at the boisterous communication. But his feelings began to change after overhearing several discussions between you and Gilbert. He didn’t much pay attention to what was being said, but more of how the words were spoken.

Toris couldn’t describe it. It was so alluring and it made him want to sit somewhere nearby to listen to the two of you as he sipped down a cup of tea. Ever since you had arrived at the manor, Gilbert’s tone changed, making his native language sweeter and pleasant.  _ And definitely more friendly. _

The talk between you and Gilbert sounded like that of two dulcet and mellow doves. Or perhaps the soft and soothing purring of snuggled up cats. Or even the euphonious hushing of the autumn breeze through the aged, shriveled, and yellow leaves of a birch tree.

_ Shh. Shh. Shh.  _ It was beautiful.

Never had Toris seen such a relationship between two siblings, both physically and orally. It was amazing how fatherly Gilbert was to you; a typical big brother to his younger sister. It was a loving and caring trait that the albino possessed and it was definitely a rarity to witness.

Of course almost every European country knew that Gilbert had a special spot for those who are younger than him, especially children. He couldn’t hide or push it aside. And, apparently, that same characteristic passed on to you. Or that is what Gilbert told the Baltic. 

_ “So, Ludwig may have not gotten my awesome gift, but at least someone inherited it! I’m just glad she was taught how to cherish and love the youth of the world. She may not be human, but it’s important that she acts like one just as I have. Children are precious creatures, Toris. It’s only so often that we lose them.” _

Toris stepped into the doorway of Gilbert’s room. From when he was striding down the hallway, Toris’s mind painted a completely different picture of what he heard than what he saw when he entered the room. He expected you to be smiling up at your brother as he stood there, arms crossed and a smirk dashed across his pale lips. Instead, he found his green eyes gazing upon a strangling and most disheartening image.

You and Gilbert were both sitting on the trunk that was at the end of the bed. You were all dressed in your new uniform; red star and everything. Your hands were tightly gripped onto his sleeves as your head and upper body leaned and pressed against his chest. Toris wasn’t quite sure if you were crying or not and were trying to hide it. But he heard no sobbing.

Gilbert had his arms wrapped around you tightly, bringing you close to him. His thumbs were slowly rubbing back and forth against your back. His chin rested on the top of your head. Toris could see his face.

A depressing and subtle frown covered the Prussian’s face. His eyes did not look as fiery or saturated as they were when you arrived. They almost looked like a greyish maroon, devoid of merriment or light, staring off into blank space. It killed Toris that he had to interrupt your painful farewell. He considered leaving the two of you to give you more time.

Hesitantly, he gently knocked on the wood of the doorframe, alerting them that they had company. Gilbert’s eyes darted to the sound of the knock, seeing who it was. His expression didn’t change in the slightest. In fact, he looked slightly irritated.

Toris didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t do this. It was too vile. For Ivan to place this upon his shoulders was torture.  _ “Why couldn’t he do it?” _ Toris thought.

Toris returned a pained look to Gilbert, dipping his head slowly as if to nod.  _ It’s time… _

Gilbert lowered his eyes back down, giving Toris the notion that he could leave, and he did. Once the Lithuanian left with a hesitant step, Gilbert shifted himself, wanting you to sit up to see him. You weren’t exactly crying, but your waterline was brimming with tears. It was an arduous battle to keep them from overflowing.

Gently, Gilbert put his hands on your shoulders, one of his thumbs rubbing your skin through the black fabric. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his face.

His deep, red irises stared into you with monumental fortitude. The silvery, white lashes that bristled around his crimson eyes reached out to you as if to pull you back into his embrace, not wanting you to leave. The darkness around his eyes cradled the sorrowful vermilion, giving them a maroonish tint. The light had left them.

His anemic lips were shaped into a stiff and desolated line, defining the epitome of his sorrow and grief for your departure. His skin didn’t appear to be pale, in fact, it was more muted and grayish than ghostly. Dreary.

Your chest was on fire and your throat was strained and plagued with knots. The tongue in your mouth had swollen up, turning your saliva salty. The air in your lungs was poisonous and the acid in your stomach ate at your nerves. Fluttering and disgusting crows swirled around inside your mind, making your skull ache. It hurt.

Today was the end of your first reunification. The ten days were not enough, not for you or Gilbert. Tears nearly dropped from your eyes at the thought of begging of Ivan to let you stay for a longer time. But you couldn’t bring your attitude to do it. It was stupid and weak to entreat to him and you would not stoop that low. He wouldn’t allow it.

Gilbert sighed quietly through his long nose. His thumbs pressed into you.

“When will I see you again?” He asked in a murmur, his tone uneasy. Your brows slowly frowned.

“I’m not sure… It’s mandatory that I see you, but…” Your eyes glanced away for a moment. “Anything can happen.”

Gilbert paused for a moment and sat there until he finally nodded.

“I just hate to see you leave… And it’s been years…” He half-heartedly laughed to keep himself from tearing up. But that little action caused your tears to finally fall.

“I know, Gil, I know.” You whispered, wiping the tears away with the wrist of your sleeve. The whites of your eyes were turning pink with irritation.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Your brother comforted in a hushed voice, wrapping his arms around you again. He rubbed his bony hand up and down your back as you gripped his dress shirt. “We’ll see each other again. And I promise,” He said as he painfully smiled, pausing for a moment to sit you back up to look at you, “I will be waiting right here for you.”

Cupping your face, Gilbert smiled the brightest he could and his eyes softened, allowing you to return a similar expression. He placed his forehead on yours and gently and slowly rubbed it side to side. You both closed your eyes, enjoying the soothing feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gilbert vowed, but then he stopped in thought. “In fact…” He said, trailing off, opening his eyes. He took his forehead off of yours, causing you to open your own eyes in confusion and interest.

“Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” The albino said, looking at you and then standing up. Raising a brow, you stood up as well.

With a few quick strides, Gilbert walked over to the writing desk in his room. He slid open one of the drawers and pulled out a sheet of paper and set it down on the surface of the desk. He snatched up one of the pens that was sprawled across the wood. Gilbert placed his right hand flat on the piece of paper and fanned it out.

Curious, you hesitantly ambled towards him, gazing at what he was constructing. You watched as your brother took the pen in his left hand and traced it around his entire hand; fingers and all. 

“This was something I used to do for Ludwig when he was just a toddler. I would do this when I had to go away to war.” He explained as he worked, smiling a bit. “This would always make him feel better.”

He placed the pen down. He was finished. Turning to you, Gilbert held the paper in his hands and looked down at it, chuckling a little at his work.

“You see, when Ludwig was growing up, war was around every corner. It was...inevitable and something I couldn’t prevent. So, before I left for war, I would make an outline of my hand for him to have; so that I could alway be with him.” Gilbert expounded as if he were telling you a story. “And...now, I’ll be always with you, too.”

And with that Gilbert held it in front of you, presenting the outline of his hand to you, and handed it to you. Grasping the paper in your hands, your (e/c) eyes ate it, taking in every curve and finger.

It was sentimental, but thoughtful; and you loved it.

“I-- I can’t believe you’ve never shown me this.” You stuttered, perplexed in a pleased way. Gilbert slightly shrugged.

“Well...you didn’t complain as much as Ludwig did when I was away. God, Ludwig would throw fits if I were gone for a day! It was a good thing you were brought into the world at that time. You kept your brother company. And you saved a lot of my paper.” Gilbert laughed a little. “Plus, when you were founded, it was already the late 1800s. The wars were pretty much over for that century.”

You continued to stare at the outline, admiring it; treasuring it. And then, after a moment of looking over the trace, you took your eyes off the paper. Passing Gilbert, set the outline flat on the desk, opened the same drawer, and took out another sheet of paper.

You fanned out your hand, placed it on the paper and, picking up the same pen, traced your own hand. You placed down the pen, picked up the outline in your own hands, and gave it to your brother, smiling both forlornly and warmly. He took it slowly; his face shattered with a silent awe which he kept for several moments. He, too, ate up the outline with his gaze.

Gilbert then took his stare off of the priceless gift and stared at you with glassy, red eyes. An amorous smile touched his lips, and he stepped a bit closer to you and wrapped his arms around you gracefully with the paper still in his hand. You did the same, putting your arms around his waist and squeezing tightly as you buried your face in his chest.

“You are brave.” Gilbert said groggily, running his hand over your (h/c) hair. He was trying not to let his tears win.

“You made me brave.” You replied, your waterline already brimming with tears again. Gilbert chuckled and petted your hair, applying a gentle and soothing pressure with his thumb.

Then, you felt him shift, causing you to look up at him like a miserable child. Reaching out to the desk, Gilbert picked up the outline of his hand and brought it to your chest, giving it to you. He stared down at you with sorrow fuming from his features.

It was time for you to go...

You didn’t want to…

Hesitantly, you took his outline and held it close to you, not taking your eyes off of his. You both stared at each other in such a way. One could call it a prison visit, but to you and Gilbert, this was a fateful departure.

Though you were allowed to visit your Prussian brother every few months, you both were still unaware and unable to be there to aid each other. Anything could happen to Gilbert and anything could happen to you.

But most of all, the thing that struck you the hardest was that you were the only protection and love that Gilbert had available to him. The time you two spent together was precious and unmeasurably injected with intimacy. And it wasn’t something you or Gilbert would let go of.

“I love you.” He whispered softly, and leaned down and kissed your forehead. You kissed his cheek soon after.

“I love you, too.” You replied, a few tears rolled down your cheeks. Gilbert cupped your face once again and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. Sighing through his nose, he smirked with some saddened irritation, placing his hands on your upper arms.

“Give him a kiss for me, will you?” He whispered quietly, referring to the Russian that was taking you away from him. Humoring your brother, you smirked back with some annoyance.

Gilbert then loosened his grip on your arms, letting you go. Your feet felt like they were bolted to the floor. You couldn’t move.  _ Correction.  _ You didn’t want to move. You couldn’t leave him, even if it were for a week. Begging to Ivan didn’t sound like a bad idea at the moment either.

_ “No. I’m not doing that.”  _ You thought, not desiring to lie on your stomach for the vile man.

Folding up the outline of Gilbert’s hand, you shoved it into your uniform pocket, making sure it was well hidden and quiet. There was no way you were going to let the communist government take the momentum from you. If you were to keep it, you had to hide it safely.

With heaviness working against your feet, you dubiously stepped away from Gilbert. You felt as his hands slid against you, wanting to feel you as you slowly walked away from him. Your throat had hundreds of knives gliding against it. The strain that it underwent was angry and your chest was no better. It was as if you had been shot in the heart dozens of times; maybe worse.

Watching as you dawdled towards the open door, Gilbert tried to ease himself by taking quiet and deep breaths. So many times in the past, you were the one to watch him leave. But this was the first time he had to watch you depart from him. And to be honest, it broke his heart.

You reached the door frame and turned to face him. It was the exact same scene that you saw when you had first entered his room, only this time, it wasn’t merry. You looked back at one another. Painfully, you smiled at him, hoping that it would take his attention away from your glassy eyes. He smiled back.

You left.

Gradually, your footsteps vanished down the hallway, leaving Gilbert all alone in his room. Several seconds passed; Gilbert didn’t move. Picking up the outline you left him, Gilbert walked back to the trunk, and sat down on it. He felt lightheaded and weary, having no strength whatsoever.

He held the paper in front of him, gazed down at it, and let the tears fall from his eyes and river down his cheeks.

  
  
  
  


Calming yourself down on the outside was not a challenge. The redness in the whites of your eyes had disappeared and the tear stains no longer existed on your cheeks. Every sign of sobbing was gone, retreating to your mind before you stepped in front of Ivan. Never would you let him see you in that state.

However, your mind held everything that had just happened in Gilbert’s room. The emotions were still there, hiding beneath a stone mask. And your face was back to being a sharp and apathetic expression.

Now, you had traveled down the stairs and reached the bottom of the stairs. The front door was open and flooding that area of the manor with chilly air. Bright morning light showered through it and standing on the front steps was Ivan, facing out over the horseshoe shaped driveway, patiently waiting for you.

Blinking slowly and sighing under your breath, you walked outside. As soon as you did, you heard rushing footsteps inside the house. You looked over your shoulder and saw Toris running up behind you. He stopped once he was outside as well and closed the front door behind him.

Ivan turned around after hearing the door close and saw that you were ready. He halfheartedly smiled down at you with lazy eyes as soon you set foot on the front steps. Then, he quickly took to notice Toris close behind you and spoke to him as you continued to walk down the steps to the car.

“You should expect a call a week in advance the next time we arrive.” Ivan stated as he walked down the steps with Toris walking beside him. Toris furrowed his brows.

“When might that be?” He asked, both of them stopping halfway down the steps. Ivan turned to him, his purple eyes peering out from beneath the brim of his hat.

“I’ll inform you.” Ivan said, getting rather impatient with the Lithuanian. The tone that he used let Toris know that he didn’t wish to blabber any further. Toris blinked and nodded, taking the hint. Without another word, Ivan continued down the steps alone and walked out onto the pavement, ambling around to his side.

You stood on your side of the car, facing the large manor, and opened your door. For a moment, you gazed up at the structure and all of its many windows, but your eyes stopped on a second story window.

In that particular window sat Raivis, staring at you with an open book in his lap on a probable window seat. It was a bit hard to see his facial expression at that moment, but it didn’t look too cheerful. You watched as he removed one of his hands from the book and waved glumly with what appeared to be a downhearted smile.

Glancing at Ivan for a second, you waited until he opened his car door and got inside. Quickly, you looked up at Raivis, let a small, friendly smile flow onto your lips, and wave faintly back to him. Then, you dropped the smile and got into the car. The car lurched forward as soon as you slammed the door shut.

Toris stood on the steps and watched as the car drove away from the manor, keeping his hands in his pockets to fight the cold air. It was only seconds later did he turn around and head back inside.

You placed your foot on the opposite knee, attempting to get comfortable for the long car ride. It would be the mid afternoon by the time the car would arrive in Moscow.

The situation was a bit unnerving for you as the car drove on the pavement. Though you were on the inside, you could feel the earth beneath you. The back of your neck tingled as you felt the gravel, the snow, the buried and dry leaves crunch, crackle, quiver underneath the rubber tires. 

It wasn’t quite the feeling that disturbed and unsettled you. It was the connotation. You were leaving. Actually physically leaving. Leaving this place; the prison that held your brother. And for what and for how long? You didn’t have a significant answer, and that angered you.

Blankly staring out the window, you noticed the car drive past the guarded gate and onto the main road. Immediately, the car picked up speed and you were down the countryside road, away from the colossal manor.

The window painted a moving canvas of bare, frostbitten trees that resembled a forest of tall skeletons. Snow coated their limbs and blanketed the dirt below them, chilling their roots. Not a single animal or creature was in sight of these woods. No deer, no birds, no rabbits. The forest was cold, vacant, and dead.

Minutes passed; about fifteen to be exact. Ivan had not utter a single word; not a sound. It was quiet. Covertly, you started to hate it. Usually, Ivan would have already started trying to stir up a conversation with you. But he didn’t, and he didn’t even reach into his pockets for a smoke! And that bothered you.

Why? Why was it biting at you? Why did you want him to prattle to you, or annoy you in any way? Had you become accustomed to his bickering and teasing that you couldn’t process without it?  _ Hopefully not. _

Your toes crinkled inside your boots, attempting to distract yourself from the screaming silence. You counted the six minutes that passed and there was no snide slur from him or any noise for that matter. You had gone from uncomfortable, to angry, to pissed. Your expression was a simmering scowl.

“Shut up.” You mumbled lowly, still staring out the window. You heard Ivan shuffle slightly and reply after a few moments.

“I beg your pardon-”

“Shut. Up.” You repeated in more of a snap. Ivan grew silent again, but you could feel his eyes on you. You looked over at him, your expression unchanged.

With a mixture of irritation and confusion, Ivan furrowed his brows, and gritted his teeth just enough to call it a sneer.

“What’s the problem?” Ivan asked in a hushed voice, shifting a bit more.

“You’re boring.” You replied, your brows harshening. Ivan scoffed, rolling his eyes at your reasoning.

“Already with this!” He growled. “It’s been but a few minutes of us being back on schedule and already you’re being ridiculous!”

“No, you’re the one who’s being ridiculous.” You snapped with a hiss, heat fuming from your ears.

“How so?” Ivan cocked his head slowly. You tsked.

“Oh, fucking come off it, Braginski! Isn’t it goddamn obvious?!” You groaned, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye. “You haven’t spoken to me at all this week. You haven’t even insulted or degraded me since we left.”

And after you said that, you returned your gaze to the window, staring blankly at the passing snow and trees. Ivan’s annoyance with you decreased by his overflow of a silent understanding. However, that didn’t rule out that he was still galled. He sighed, piqued.

“Well, would you rather me pester you, because I know you hate it.” Ivan mocked, turning back to his window and resting his head in his gloved hand.

You turned your head just enough to see him and glare. Not a second later did Ivan meet your glare with his, holding the daggers at each other’s throats. The tension was stifling. Only a moment later did you sigh through your nose and look away, back to the window. This Ivan noted and acted off of.

_...Yes. _

He, too, retreated back to his moving view, considering what to ask while grinding his teeth back and forth. The funny thing was you had been completely right about him ignoring you. But you didn’t have an exact answer as to why. If he had to guess your accusation as to why he was ignorant of you was the winter celebration. What else could it have been from?

How was he to hide it anyways? Obviously, he flat out confessed to his militant prisoner that he had a soft spot of some sort for you. And, surely, if he had pity for you, there would be a sense of respect or care by nature for you. For several weeks, he had slackened his name calling, and his leniency on you was becoming more noticeable to many.  _ But not too many. _

But how was he to hide it? How would he cease this recent care? Ivan rolled possible solutions around in his head like river stones, feeling their texture and smoothness before choosing the finest one.

Unfortunately, most of the immediate ones were rough and jagged, but he had the entire car ride to pick the best option. For now, however, he had to play along. He needed time. But he wasn’t sure if time would do the trick. He didn’t know if he would ever be as despotic to you as before.

“Did you enjoy your time…?”

You waited and you slowly and subtly smiled before answering. “It was nice…”

And that was all of the conversation.

  
  
  
  


March 10th, 1962   Washington D.C.  The White House  11:03 AM

Standing around wasn’t something Ludwig was accustomed to, especially waiting. Becoming impatient was a curse; a flaw of his. He couldn’t help it. Most of the time, he wanted things to be handed to him quickly. He wanted almost everything, fast. Quick. Here it is. There. Take it. Now. Go. Faster!

Ludwig couldn’t sit down. Not now. He was too anxious to scour his brain for the thought. For the many weeks that he had waited for this meeting, he was finally on the edge of his seat. His fingertips were nearly red and swollen from the many times he had bit his nails off.

Every creak in hallway made his heart jump, only increasing his apprehensive. The well-rested color around his cyan eyes was no longer present. Instead, the earthly blue was surrounded by a dark grey canvas. Even for him sleep was becoming scarce.

Gradually, Ludwig could feel his legs getting tired. He glanced at the red couch that was beside him.  _ No. _ He did not want to sit down. He looked away from it.

It had been months since the tragic marker was placed down in Berlin. Ludwig felt like such a naive and ignorant fool on the morning that it happened; mostly for telephone call. He couldn’t believe the American.

He thought that the entire story was impossible; the East Berlin territory building a wall around the Western sanction, preventing East Berliners from fleeing to the West side.  _ Ludacris! _ But the more he ran it through his head, the more he believed it. And the pitiful and cowardice fact was that he didn’t want to believe it.

In the deep cavern of his sleep, all he could think and poison himself with a tale; his life. He wanted to believe that the phone call was a dream; a wild fantasy. It was too late for him to retract his choice to be ignorant of the American’s warning. But he should have reacted earlier than that. He should have made plans after the terrifying scene at the world meeting.

It was a memory he would never be able to erase. At times, it would patronize him to a point where he would stop working all together. That image wouldn’t leave him. Your overall appearance was grotesque and nefarious, yet you still acted in his favor.

He couldn’t decide whether what you did was good or bad. And a bit of what you did relaxed him in the strangest, yet logical way. If Ivan had truly transformed you into a bolshevik and a pure, communist puppet, then you would have taken aim at him instead of V. But Ivan was only half triumphant in one field. You were a hazardous being that took up one goal. Kill.

_ Gilbert… Oh, Gilbert… _

West Berlin was now a small, capitalist island in the middle of an overwhelming, communist sea. It was almost suffocating for Ludwig, but he angrily laughed at his ungrateful self for having pity for his own problem. He knew you and Gilbert were getting the far worst part of the stick and he hated himself for that. And he didn’t even know Gilbert’s true condition!

Ludwig cursed himself for not taking precaution or even visiting the East Berlin side to search out foul play for that matter. A trap had been set up right beneath his nose and he failed to sense it. It was stupid of him to only rely on Alfred for all of his information about you, Gilbert, and what the Soviets were up to. And the data was becoming so slim and shallow, proving not to be very reliant or believable.

All of the information was precious and vital for Ludwig though. Whether it was vague or drenched in evidence, the German wanted it; desired it. And he ate it all up, careful not to miss anything. Photographs, letters from spies, documents. Nothing was left out. He savoured and treasured every piece.

He had to thank Alfred for all of the work and he couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for the American; to gather such information and lose men mysteriously just to hand off documents to the US government. Ludwig mentally cringed in shame, knowing that he owed Alfred an apology.

Ever since the wall was put into place, Ludwig never called Alfred, afraid that he would be turned away for the way he responded. But the information didn’t stop coming in.

Today, however, wasn’t going to consist of just physical information. Just last week, Ludwig received a call from Jones, requesting that he fly to Washington D.C. for some fundamental information about the whole ordeal. Ludwig didn’t hesitate to respond. And before he knew it, he was in the red room of the White House, anticipating for Alfred through the door.

The German glanced up at the many paintings that hung on the red, filling up the scarlet painted walls with even more beauty. The curtains were pulled back on the windows, allowing morning light to stream through the glass. Though the chamber had dark attributes, the entire room felt light.

This, however, didn’t make Ludwig any less sick. The colors haunted him. The air choked him. The paintings and furniture grabbed at him. It drove him insane that he couldn’t escape the color red. It made him ill.

Just after Ludwig shoved his hands into his pockets, there was a definite creak at the door that caused his head to whip around. The door had been opened.  Apparently, Ludwig wasn’t the only one who was startled.

Alfred’s head jolted at his guest’s sudden movement, his pulse straining in his neck for a brief moment. He breathed, closed the door behind him, and walked into the room. Becoming mentally frantic, Ludwig dared not to move or show any signs of panic for that matter. But he could already tell he was losing that battle. He was nearly shaking in place.

Ludwig studied the American as he approached him. Alfred wasn’t wearing his glasses or a warm appearance either. He didn’t look tired, but signs of stress were locked in his eyes. His lips were a grey horizon, holding no excitement or ego. Just business.

Adding to his confusion and anxiousness, Ludwig noticed that he wasn’t carrying anything with him. No files, no papers. Nothing.

Alfred stopped in front of his guest, not saying a word. Ludwig couldn’t help but worriedly stutter out a few words.

“A-- Alfred, I…”

The American nation raised a hand slightly to cease his apology, blinking slowly and shaking his head faintly. Ludwig quickly shut his mouth, swallowing his pleas for forgiveness.

Alfred lifted his eyes to the same blue. For once, Ludwig could see that he was troubled and silenced himself until he felt the moment was right.

After staring at each other for a few heavy moments, Alfred sighed and spoke.

“Please, sit down.” He lazily waved to the couch that was beside them.

“Alfred, I-” Ludwig began again. He was stopped.

“Please.” Alfred softly pushed, trying to hush him up. “Sit down.”

Ludwig opened his mouth once again, hesitated, and then shut his mouth. His brain was quivering. Something was wrong with the man that stood before him. He didn’t like it.

Nodding once, Alfred turned, walked around the table and reached the opposite side. Watching Alfred, Ludwig dubiously sat down, not taking his eyes off the man. His heart raced, not knowing what Alfred had in store for him. Hell, he didn’t even know how Alfred was going to act around him.

A few moments passed and Alfred had not spoken a word, nor did he look up from the table. His gaze was harsh, weary, and frustrated; not exactly angry. The longer Ludwig stared at him, the more irritated he became.

_ Why the hell isn’t he saying anything?! What’s wrong with him?! _ Ludwig thought, feeling his leg on the verge of bouncing. He had to start the conversation. Now.  _ Shout at him if you have to! _

“I want to apologize.” Ludwig blurted out, but, yet again, he was halted. Not with a hand, but with one, simple word.

“No.” Alfred said softly, keeping his heavy gaze on the table. He inhaled silently. “No… I’m the one who should be apologizing, Ludwig. Not you.”

“Warum? I didn’t listen to you, Jones. I was a damn fool.” Ludwig protested, his brows furrowing and his blue eyes sharpening. Lifting his long and troubled stare, Jones rested his eyes on the German. He sighed.

“I haven’t been honest with you, Ludwig.” He said, sounding remorseful and groggy with his murmur. Silence.

“What do you mean?” Ludwig asked, not understanding what he meant at all.  _ Why is he apologizing? _ He focused on the man’s eyes, attempting to read Alfred’s situation.

Returning to his recent state, Jones glanced slowly at the ground, the table, to the side of him. Anywhere Ludwig wasn’t.

Ludwig stiffened and locked his scrutinizing glare on Alfred. Annoyance and distress poked and prodded his head. Alfred was hiding something from him and it angered him that he was taking his time to tell him.

Ludwig’s head jumped from conclusion to conclusion, rushing each one past his mental scope like slides on a projector. He knew there was something the American wasn’t telling him. It was ugly and definitely not good news, that he could tell. Ludwig’s heart sprung as possible mishaps shaped inside his mind. Something must have happened to his siblings. Something bad. Why else would Alfred act like this? But then again, he could have been wrong.

Standing up and turning, Alfred slowly ran a hand through his golden blond hair, digging his fingertips into his scalp, inflicting a mild pain. A harsh massage if you could say that.

He didn’t say anything at first, but then he let his hand drop from his hair, letting it slap against the side of his thigh. He didn’t look at Ludwig, limiting his sight to the ground. Putting his hands in the pockets of his dark brown slacks, he breathed shallowly, readying himself.

“I’ve been keeping this secret from you for far too long, Lud.” He started.

“What?! What happened?!” Ludwig nearly hollered, stirring in his seat. There was a pause.

“(Y/n) was raped...” Alfred said softly, possessing great strain in his voice. No sugar coating enwrapped the statement. It was blunt, forward, and there. Nothing Alfred could say would make it sound any better.

Ice cold was Ludwig’s blood; his veins and arteries freezing into icicles. One tap from a hammer would cause them to shatter into wicked shards of glass. Ludwig stood up in a flash. He could feel a chilling hand reach inside him and snatch his heart as his cheeks went numb and then prickled with frigid pins and needles. A deafening alarm shrieked within his silent mind.

He couldn’t comprehend the three words that had just slipped from Alfred’s mouth. Such simple words and such a boisterous and disgusting meaning. Ludwig felt his stomach flinch, making him feel the urge to vomit both physically and mentally.

“She was what…?!” Ludwig raspily whispered in disbelief, hinting that he was about to explode into a molten rage. It only angered him further when Alfred refused to face him and confer to him directly and formally. It was a weak and shameful move of his, especially with the workings behind it.

“17 years ago… At Ivan’s hand.” Alfred mumbled quickly. “It was him.”

Suddenly, Ludwig’s blood boiled, making the red, hot liquid rise to his neck. He could feel the heat around every golden follicle of hair on his head. He was outraged at what he was hearing, but mostly at what he realized. The discovery was so simple and so corrupt.

The German’s brows furrowed at an ugly and menacing angle and his eyes held intentions of that of a madman. The blue irises screamed murder and blood. They wanted to taste it.

Alfred turned his head only slightly at the faint crackle of balled fists.

“And you knew about this…?” He heard Ludwig murmur in a low and shaky growl. Alfred couldn’t reply and kept quiet. But the silence was the only answer Ludwig needed.

“ _ Affirmative.” _ It said. The American was swimming in guilt and he was drowning.

There was a definite crack that echoed in Ludwig’s mind, causing all his emotions to flee from the most definitive one. Wrath.

In one fluid, yet harsh, motion, Ludwig stepped somewhat around the low table, just enough to reach out and grab Alfred by the shirt front with both hands. After being successful in the grasp, Ludwig yanked Alfred towards him with a barbaric strength, causing the shorter man to stagger over the table.

Not being at all surprised by the Germanic nation’s actions, Alfred couldn’t help but just flimsily stand in his grip with an expression of pure doom and his hands around the man’s grip. Snarling and gritted were Ludwig’s teeth; his upper lip upturned and his breath enraged. Though both of the men’s eyes were blue, they each told a different story; one of grief and guilt, the other of betrayal and indignation.

Letting go with one hand, Ludwig quickly drew his arm back, clenched his fist, and drove the punch straight into Alfred’s face.

_ Punt! _

Alfred released a grunt as his head was thrown back from the powerful blow, but Ludwig’s other hand kept him in place, making him recoil for another strike. The area of impact stung and ached incredibly. If Alfred were human, he would have a fractured skull and a deadly concussion from the German’s strike. Already, he could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Ludwig threw another punch, this time swerving his fist to have it drive into Alfred’s cheek. The American winced as his eyes glanced at it, seeing that it was coming.

_ Punt! _

Letting out a muffled cry, Alfred felt himself stumble and fall on the table, his shoulder landing on the sturdy wood. Not a second later did another punch drive into that same cheek.

_ Punt! _

Alfred felt as Ludwig lowered himself, nearly climbing on top of him to keep him in place for the beating.

Again.

_ Punt! _

A tooth was coming loose.

Again.

_ Punt! _

A tooth had come out, but it didn’t stop there. Not for another dozen hits.

Alfred’s mouth was filling up with the red liquid, staining his teeth yellow and red. He couldn’t turn his head to spit the blood or the tooth out of his mouth to keep him from choking. He was already being choked by two large and masculine hands. A human under this kind of strength would have been dead from the first two blows.

Strangling the man below him, Ludwig tightened his grip on the neck that was struggling in his hands, pressing his thumbs down on the windpipe. Alfred choked and coughed out as the desire to breathe became more and more demanding. But it only caused blood to spatter and spray onto Ludwig’s shirt, neck, and face, speckling his skin with red dots. Streams of crimson rivered out of the corners of Alfred’s mouth, taking on the look of a drawn on smile.

“DU WUSSTEST! DU WUSSTEST!” Ludwig thundered, talking down to the man that struggled helplessly below him. He shook Alfred with a tremendous force, slamming the back of his head against the wood. “UND DU HAST NICHTS GETAN!”

And he stopped, loosening his grip to allow some kind of pitiful response from his victim. This was Alfred’s only chance. In a raspy and groggy voice, Alfred spoke with pained eyes. His words were slurred.

“I-- I...have no...excuse… I...decieted you…” His mouth drooled out more blood, along with the tooth he had lost. “You...have every right...to be angry, Lud.”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT, DAMMIT!” The German snapped, his accent thick. Once again, his grip worsened. “MY SIBLINGS ARE ALL THAT I HAVE, JONES! WITHOUT THEM, I HAVE NOTHING!” He shook Alfred with every sentence. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THEM AND I TRUSTED YOU! AND THEN YOU GO AND ACT LIKE YOU’RE SOME KIND OF BROTHER TO ME!”

“I...I’m not trying to be…” Alfred hesitantly choked, furrowing his brows with discomfort. He shut his eyes, flinching as the last shout spat out of Ludwig’s lungs.

“THEN STOP PRETENDING TO BE! YOU WILL NEVER BE GILBERT!”

Jones’s eyes opened and then widened after the sentence shattered the room, causing every other noise to mute itself. He no longer felt the iron grip around his neck. Ludwig’s hands had unhooked themselves from Alfred’s neck, setting him free as they laid sprawled and limp on Ludwig’s thighs. Alfred let his eyes wander up to the German’s face.

Two drops of clear, salty fluid fell onto Jones’s shirt, joining the dark red spatter. Ludwig had begun to weep quietly, the whites of his eyes becoming red as tears made their way down his cheeks. Some strands of his blond hair had come loose from their slicked back style and fell forward.

“I…” Ludwig started in a higher than normal pitch, whispering as if he were trying to keep from breaking down. “I...never should have let her go.” He stifled a sniff. “I should have…” But he stopped himself, afraid of appearing vulnerable and horrified.

Alfred kept his mouth shut, knowing that if he spoke up it would only anger the German further and possibly give him another beating. He did, however, swallow the blood and the tooth in his mouth in order to breath heavily through his mouth for his nose was broken and clogged.

“I should have stopped her! I should have objected!” Ludwig cried, slamming a fist down onto the wood, next to Alfred’s head, making him shudder. “I was the one who should have suffered!”

There was a brief pause between the two men. Alfred swallowed again; the metallic tang of blood made his stomach queasy.

“Ludwig…” Alfred squeaked out softly, attempting not to light the flame again. With his attention gripped again, Ludwig glared down at the American with sharp, blue eyes.

“I have…” Alfred swallowed again, “something else...to tell you.”

Though the wrath and murder was still present in his hands and head, Ludwig wedged whatever patience he had left into his understanding. He could only imagine the upcoming news to be negative. Seeing that the German had caught on, Alfred spoke again, but with a carefully chosen vocabulary.

“(Y/n) and Gilbert...have been reunited…” Alfred stated, breathily. “They...met and saw each other for seventeen days in Braginski’s manor…and they are to see each other...every few months.”

No answer came from Ludwig but a blank and somewhat eased stare. It was like ice melting away or a flickering flame finally dying down. His features deteriorated and became somehow softer, though he was still clearly crossed.

“When?” Ludwig growled, furrowing his sharp, stern brows at his victim.

“November third. This past year.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” Ludwig snapped, snatching Alfred by his front and pulling him upwards, shaking him in his bloody and sticky fists.

“I thought you wouldn’t listen to me!” Alfred said, quick as a whip, blood spraying as he spoke.

Ludwig stopped himself once more and roughly let Alfred go, causing him to fall and slam against the wood. Alfred winced and groaned faintly.

“I see…” Ludwig murmured, a sorrowful smile stretching onto his lips. “Hehehe… It’s always been my fault…”

“Ludwig-”

“IT’S ALWAYS BEEN MY FAULT!” Ludwig shouted directly down at Alfred, forcing him to understand and accept him; scaring him into thinking that he was right. His eyes were a threatening and maniacal blue and his pupils small and needlelike. He was no longer smiling, but scowling.

Alfred winced once more, only this time he put up his hands to shield himself from the verbal abuse, afraid that Ludwig would strike out again. But nothing came.

“Thank God… Thank God…” Ludwig wept in a whisper, putting his eyes into the crook of his arm, hiding his sobbing. Alfred knew what he was referring to and tried to sit up by propping up on his elbows all while keeping a pitiful expression on his bloodied and battered face.

After a few minutes, Ludwig had gotten off of the beaten American and allowed him to stand up. Ludwig was now sitting on the low table, still weeping softly while Alfred wiped whatever blood he could off of his face with a handkerchief. But what took up most of his time was the attempt of putting his nose back into shape, which he eventually did. It was much more painful to put back into place than getting it broken. There was a distinct crackle as it was fixed.

Alfred felt around in his mouth with his tongue to feel the place of the missing tooth. Luckily, it was one of his back teeth. It would take about a week for his tooth to regenerate and fill the gap. But for now, he had other things to worry about.

Putting the now bloody handkerchief into his pocket, Alfred cautiously sauntered back to his visitor. Apparently, Ludwig did not stir when Alfred approached him. The German was in a miserable state with his head in his hands and his fingers digging into his blond hair.

It was far past the point that Alfred realised that he empathized the man. A monologue rushed into his head as he stood there, staring down at Ludwig with sympathetic and frowning expression.

 

_ “He has been cheated and lied to. I know that he hates himself; every bone in his body. He hates himself for the right reason I’m afraid, too. He hates himself that he is lucky and free. Here he is, walking away from two world wars, free and only having to pay war repairs and interest for Europe. _

_ But his brother, who is his childhood idol and a loving brother and father figure, is dissolved, banished from ever becoming a country again, and is imprisoned by my rival. All because the judge and the people of the world saw that he was the reason for Ludwig’s hate and militarization, therefore stripping away his good name. _

_ Why, Gilbert practically trained my army! Just the other day, I remembered the day Gilbert taught me how to aim and fire a musket. I even remembered when he crossed the entire Atlantic Ocean by ship just to congratulate me on my victory over King George. And if it weren’t for the mercy and the very existence of Prussia, I would have suffered and never became independant! _

_ And his sister… She flat out sacrificed herself for both of them; Gilbert and Ludwig. And no one even asked of her! Willingly! And she is so young a country, which adds to Ludwig’s depression. His little sister taking up a death wish just for him and his older brother. It was suicide that she take up such a sentence! She was risking everything! Her own people, her own land, her very existence! _

_ Her suffering is intolerable. Already, just in the time frame of sixteen years, she had been locked up, forced to train the Soviet army, and put up with the countless scandals that the Soviets injected in her country. It was only a week after she arrived in Moscow was she raped by Braginski! And in her drugged sleep; Defenseless! Damn that Slavic bastard…! Damn him to Hell! Damn it all! _

_ I sometimes wish I were like Ludwig… I envy him… Maybe it’s because I never had a brother or a sister that loved me the way (Y/n) and Gilbert do to Ludwig. Even with all of the hardship that he was undertaking from the many years, I would go through with it and take it upon my shoulders and my heart. I guess I will never understand what love is unless I am him. But from what I can see, it’s unbreakable...” _

 

Alfred sighed and blinked slowly and sat down on the table next to Ludwig. Still, he did not stir. Without anything else to say or do, Alfred put a warm and comforting hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. It was the only friendly act he could do at the moment. Only later on would he have a stupid and dangerous proposition for the German; one that might be promising.

  
  
  
  


March 14th, 1962     The Kremlin   7:44 PM

The evening was surprisingly and extremely cold though it was the middle of March and spring was to come in just a few weeks. However, not a single icy flake drifted from the charcoal sky, but the rooftops and streets were blanketed with snow. The world outside your window wasn’t exactly gray. A blue aura colored Moscow, giving the snow a light cobalt tint. Blue in both personality and color, Moscow was gloomily falling asleep, tucking itself in for the long, chilly night.

The day felt short to you even though you had been up for more than 72 hours with absolutely no sleep. The sleep that you had acquired those three days ago was only a restless four hours. The whole while that you’d been awake felt like just a mere hour. It was normal for you, of course, but something felt odd about the lapse of time. It didn’t feel wasted; just used up.

It had been five months since you had vacated with Ivan to his manor and five months since you had seen Gilbert. A fast wink of time if you could say that. How you missed him…

Not a day went by without thinking about him; not even a mental image of him would leave your thoughts. You fantasized about the next time you would vacate to see him. It had to be close; that day. It was mandatory that you were to go to the large manor and spend at least a week with your brother…  _ But it’s not enough… _

At night, you would quietly slink like a cat to your dresser, reach behind it with delicate fingers, and pull out Gilbert’s outline of his hand. In fear of it being discovered or taken away by a snooping party member or a soldier, you tucked it behind the dresser. Every once in awhile, you would change the location of the paper and hide in different areas of your room. Only when the maid would come did you keep the paper folded in your pocket. And after the day of training was done, you would slip it back into its hiding spot.

But alas, you knew that one day it would be discovered and possibly ripped up in front of your very eyes by Ivan or some sneaky, little spy. And you could have dozens more redrawn by Gilbert the times you would visit him, but every single one was precious. You could only imagine him going through the same problem in hiding your hand outline. Unlike you, he was constantly being watched.

Months ago, when you had just arrived back from the visit, you decided to change your room up a bit. You rearranged some of the furniture; moving the bed to the corner so you had the window to the immediate side of you, but higher above the mattress, of course. It was just to where you could sit and gaze out the window.

You thought that it would be much more efficient than to pull up a chair to sit and look out the window. Honestly, you thought you would look like fool. But having the bed right next to the window made it easier for you to lie back and fall asleep after gazing out at the limited world rather than having to get up and walk to bed.

As for the other furniture, it didn’t quite matter. All that you cared about was that it was different. In fact, the simple change made you less irritated and comforted you in the strangest way. So simple.

At the moment, you were sitting on the bed with your legs sprawled to the side as if you were half laying. Your arms rested over each other as they laid along the windowsill. Your head was laying over both of them. The glass was clouded where your breath fogged, making the panes wet. Your finger quietly tapped the glass without effort, creating a soft noise every once in awhile. Boredom.

Your room was dark; it always was. A light fixture was on the ceiling and it worked perfectly, but you never turned it on. You never wanted it on. The lamp that was on your nightstand was only used when you felt like reading or sketching, but there was nothing interesting to read or sketch. And you doubted that Ivan would let you read anything other than The Communist Manifesto or some language book.  _ At least I can practice my languages… _

Sitting there in the dark by the light of the blue dusk of the window, you were stilled dressed in your uniform; the one Ivan gave you. Earlier, around six o’clock when you had been escorted back to your room from instruction, you only pulled off your boots, leaving on your socks. You left your uniform on and for one reason.

Today, you didn’t get physical; only harshly scrutinizing the soldiers by walking around them, pointing out what they are doing wrong and demonstrating the correct form. But there were no mistakes today. The day after you returned to Moscow with Ivan, it was straight back to the training field you went. Funny thing was Ivan never forced you. It was voluntary of you and completely driven by your bottled energy.

It had been so long since you had driven a punch, a kick, or a stab. And when you set foot back on the snowy and grassless field or the indoor training rink, all of your deadly strength returned to your body.  _ And it felt so good… _

All throughout that time, you had traitorously exceeded and lived up to Ivan’s request and expectations. Ivan had once visited you in private in the training rink after a day of instruction to express his approval. This you dismissed with a sharp tongue and off you went to your room in the Kremlin. You promised him more brutal techniques and fighting styles and indeed you did that. But, still, you did not give away everything you knew…

Fortunately, you were able to put a little more weight on, and with the weight came the muscles. It was better that you didn’t look like a starving animal. Your build was back to the condition it was before the Cell Wall was constructed. The communist disease, however, was still present with your appearance no matter how much you ate. You were still light in weight and still spitting out blood every few weeks.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

There was a gentle knocking at the door; so gentle that it startled you and made you inaudibly gasp and wisp around. You waited a moment before sighing, crawling off your bed, and silently walking to the door. You gripped the handle and opened it.

Tilting your head just enough to meet his dimly lit face, you wearily gazed up at him. Ivan, too, was still dressed in his attire, but had an opposite spirit than that of yours. He seemed buoyant and radiant, especially his eyes. Oddly, they didn’t appear smug to you.  _ Probably because Khrushchev has been happy with the new military tactics and combat techniques… He can change in a matter of seconds... _

Ivan raised a curious brow at you for a moment. He wondered if you had been sleeping and had disturbed you. The mix of strange feelings didn’t return to him, because they were already there to begin with.

All day, Ivan was in a rather good mood; better yet, for most of the new year. Ever since he ventured back to Moscow with you, everything went his way and there was a definite increase of improvement in all of the Union’s fields: science, technology, athletics, weaponry, militia, mathematics, and so many more.

He even went as far as to sneak numerous transport vessels all the way from his ports in Neva Bay and countless others to ports in Cuba. Incredibly, they were undetected, therefore executing his plan successfully. Khrushchev was more than astounded.

Ivan spent his usual day in his study, reading over government documents, putting his signature here and there, and going over papers the Soviet Premier wanted approval on before it was put into place. Enjoying his time of fortune, Ivan couldn’t help but think about the little country that aided to his improvement.

In truth, he went into a stern disapproval of himself for even daring to think that he would show you respect or a thanking for his country’s enhancement. He vowed to himself that he would kill this anonymous sympathetic in his mind to cease his leniency on you. And he did for a time.

At instances, he would return to his infuriating name calling and offensive slurs to you whenever he could. But these were mere shoves that he acted on you, keeping you away from his mind. He didn’t want you to continue thinking that he had some pity for you. Or perhaps, he just didn’t anyone to find out that he had a festering sympathy for you.

Ivan could play his harassments toward you as an act; a coverup. But even then, he felt like he was making a loophole of some sort for himself, making an excuse as to why he shouldn’t be so cruel. He was supposed to be. The Germanics had taken too much from him, and it was vital that he made you suffer. And with all of the growing liking and tenderness, he still hated you. But this hate was not going to be effective or victorious this evening.

“I haven’t awoken you, have I?” Ivan asked with a hint of concern to his bright perspective.

“No. What is it?” You murmured, jaded from banality. The Russian glanced down for a minute as his smile resumed and looked at you again. He opened his mouth just a bit; it took a while for words to come out of it.

“Well,” He began, clasping his hands behind his back, “I was wondering if you would like to go out and get a drink.” He was dawdling with his words.

You raised a brow judgingly at him, seeing that he was basically proposing the same shenanigan he did several years ago, a night you wished not to remember.

“With me, of course.” He added, hoping that it would give you some thought. Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinized his character as you interrogated him.

“Shouldn’t you be taking that lieutenant of yours with you instead?” You mumbled, now on the verge of rejecting him once again. “I’m sure he’d be flattered.”

“I’m afraid he’s in St. Petersburg for the week. He had some business to attend to.” Ivan informed you. You didn’t reply.

“Why don’t you come? It’ll just be a few hours; maybe just one.” Ivan pressed, his smile persistent. “I’ll be paying of course. Just put on your boots and we can go.”

“What are you at, Ivan?” You said under your breath, becoming impatient with him.

“I-- just,” Ivan started at first in a quiet voice, glancing away again, “wanted to talk.”

Your expression softened ever so slightly at his body language. He looked like he was trying to pull something off, but was failing like a crashing plane. It began to appear to you that he was trying his best to be sincere or at least cordial. For once, you felt a little guilt grip your heart; that you had even frightened him or shot him down. He honestly looked like a glum and shy child.

But you also wanted to slam the door on his face, turn around, and go back to the comfort of your window. He was not worthy of your time and nor would you betray yourself or your brothers. And why would you dare to drink with a man you hated the living hell out of? He did this once before and he can do it again. The consequence was humiliating.

However, you did remember something; Something of significance. You told and promised Gilbert that you would contract information from Ivan. An escape route or a way out of Russia. Ivan would know, and if you got him drunk enough, he would slur and spit out whatever you wanted. It was worth a shot.

“About what?”

“About a few things that have been on my mind, but anything, really.”

“...And that’s all you want to do?” You asked him after a few moments of thought.

“It’s all I ask.” Ivan said, sounding quite similarly to the last time. “Please.”

After a short time of the two of you standing there, you took your hawkish eyes off of him, tilting your head down and sighing through your nose. Ivan’s eyes lit up at your reaction and the rising action of your answer. _ Do it for Gilbert. _

“Just give me a moment.”

  
  
  


The bar was a dimly illuminated and cold tavern. The aged lights gave off an orange glow, making the scene peculiarly inviting though the air was quite chilly and cruel. There were few tables; many of them old and caked with grime. You knew this because of the way the light gleamed and shined on the wood, making the surface look glossy.

The bar counter was glittering with the many bottles that it carried; all with different shapes, sizes, and colors. When you had first sat at the bar, you secretly and lazily scanned the different names and years. Never had you seen so much vodka in one counter.

The walls were constructed of wood and brick. The overall style was eastern and in moderate condition. It had to have been decades old. You were surprised that they hadn’t collapsed from the years of wear and tear.

Many of the walls were lined with booths which held both two types of men. There were the drunken men; some of them both old and young, husbands and unweds, joyous and mournful. The other half were the men you saw everyday.  _ Apparently, this is where the scum spend their after hours. Why am I not surprised? _

From the bar and atop your stool, you took a glance over your shoulder to get a small glimpse of the soldiers. You could only count seven of them, all having their share of secretive stares at you. It was definitely a big surprise for them to see you out of the Kremlin. In fact, it was the first time you had ever ventured into the streets of Moscow.

It had been five minutes since you had passed through the door with Ivan. You scanned the tavern as soon as you entered and was shocked at the small amount of people. _ It is a weekday. _  There was no music to hear. Not a single tune or instrument could be picked up in the bar. Just the indistinct murmur and soft chatter of the soldiers and drunken men floated in your ears. 

Already, he had asked for two glasses of vodka; one for each of you. Why he chose to sit at the bar, you didn’t know.

The bartender, a fat and bearded old man, placed the glasses in front of you and Ivan, and disappeared behind the curtain that blocked off the alcohol storage room from the customers. Only then did Ivan speak to you, wanting to keep the conversation private.

“Now, I bet you’re wondering what I’ve wanted to talk to you about.” Ivan said, taking his glass with one hand and bringing it closer to him, not quite wanting to drink it yet. You didn’t touch yours.

“And that you’ve wanted to discuss it in public.” You added to his sentence, keeping your eyes on the strongly alcoholic drink. Ivan smirked at you and chuckled in his throat.

“I wanted to thank you for living up to your promise and keeping your word about improving my country. I’ve seen many advances in all of my fields.” Ivan said, and he put the glass up to his lips and began drinking. You didn’t speak.

“Really, I mean it.” Ivan said after putting his drink down, finishing half the glass. “And I’ve been meaning to repay you in some way.”

You barely smiled and sighed a laugh through your nose.

“You’re not a very good communist.” You murmured, taking your glass in your hand, hesitating before taking a sip.

At first, you tasted just water, but then a scratchy fire scraped your throat and tongue. That fire then spread and jumped to your stomach, making it clench. As soon as it hit your stomach, a warmth engulfed you. It felt good.

Ivan took to ignoring the comment, brushing it off his shoulder. He had become accustomed to letting your insults go and moving on. And causing a scene here would be quite rude for the other men that were trying to enjoy their time. He put the glass up to his lips again and drank, finishing his vodka.

“Why did you want me to come here with you so badly?” You asked him in suspicion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye before taking another sip. Ivan gave you a similar look, but he didn’t keep it for long.

“Well, I thought it would be nice to treat you for once.” Ivan said, smiling. “I’ve felt a bit guilty for not allowing you any alcohol. And I know it’s something you like.”

“How stereotypical of you.” You sneered, taking another sip. “But I know that’s not why, Ivan. Be truthful.”

“I am.”

“You lie through your teeth. I’ve had men hide their fibs with better stories than that.”

The bartender came out from behind the curtain with a small crate that held many filled bottles. Ivan took this moment as a perfect distraction to avoid your interrogation.

“Two more glasses.” Ivan said to the tender in his native tongue, faintly waving to the man. He grunted an inaudible reply, set the crate below the bar, and got Ivan the two glasses. As suddenly as he arrived, the bartender retreated behind the curtain.

Watching this with a raised brow, you turned your head slightly, glancing back and forth at Ivan and the glasses in scrutinizing amazement. You had only taken a few sips of the vodka and were already feeling a bit drowsy. But Ivan was taking glassfuls at a time. And he was quick to notice your stare.

“I guess you’ve noticed my addiction.” Ivan said after chuckling, smiling with the curl of his lip. He put his second glass up to his lips and took a long sip.

“I’d call it a problem rather than an addiction.” You said, furrowing your brows. “Not even I would have that much in less than ten minutes.”

“Have you ever tried?” Ivan asked before drinking again. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You asked in disgust. He put his half finished glass down, on the verge of laughing at your question.

“You’re German. How can I?” He said, looking down at you. Grinding your teeth, you put your arms flat over each other and placed your head on it, sighing.

“You fucking Russian.” You mumbled, irritated with him. Ivan laughed, taking his hat off and placing it on the counter.

“Forgive me for annoying you. I thought you would be used to it since Gilbert is your brother.” Ivan said, picking up his drink and finishing it.

“No one can be as irritating as you, Braginski.” You growled, becoming defensive that he was talking about your brother.

“You flatter me.”

You sighed silently through your nose as a pressure placed itself in your head. The drowsiness of the vodka was taking its toll. Your vision was fogging up and a sleepiness petted your head, yet your pulse was racing. It had been awhile since you had it; years.

“Are you alright?” Ivan asked with some concern, noticing that you had gone silent. You stirred a little on your stool.

“I’m fine.” You breathed, and let some time pass before you continued. “I just can’t sit the way I want to.”

Ivan saw what you meant, looking at the way your foot anxiously tapped; seeing how it so desperately wanted to lay over your knee.

“In all of my years with you being around, I’ve never asked you. Why do you do that?” Ivan asked, starting his third glass. You perked your head up, glancing at him.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know. I’ve done it ever since I can remember.” You said, speaking softly. “Gilbert encouraged me to do it and it’s been a habit ever since.”

“Why did he encourage it?”

You smirked a little before answering.

“Well, Roderich despised it. He said it was ‘unladylike’ of me.” You said, taking a sip.

“You never explained to me why you hate him so much.” Ivan raised a brow. You turned your head to him.

“Have you ever met him?” You inquired of him. Ivan darted his eyes in thought, thinking back to all the times he encountered with the elaborate Austrian.

“Yes, a few times in the past, I have.” He answered. You turned back to your drink.

“Then you should understand how unreasonable and difficult he is.” You muttered in distaste for the man. “He’s a snobbish fop with a repulsive attitude. He only cares about himself.” You began drinking again, only being half done.

“Sounds like you really hate him.” Ivan stated. “Did you learn to deal with him?”

“Not exactly…” You admitted, speaking slowly and with a bundle of hesitation. “Though Gilbert took to enjoying my independence of the man, he strongly agreed with Ludwig that I had to get along with Roderich. I mean, it was mandatory that I was to learn from the fool. But,” You shrugged lightly, “all I was able to contract from him was music. I only stayed at his residence for a few months; not even an entire year.”

“Was it that painful for you to be there?” Ivan asked, sipping from his third glass.

“Actually, he had me leave.” You said, mischievously smiling down at your drink. Ivan furrowed his brows and set his vodka down, swallowing hard.

“You leave? How so?”

You didn’t answer him so quickly. You were unsure to do so. It was then that you realized that you were telling him too much too quickly. But you also wanted to tell him the many stories and mishaps you had with Roderich. They were too funny not to commute.

“Well...it was on so many occasions did I humiliate him. But there was one that finally broke him.” A faint smile shyly touched your lips. “I was only of seventeen years of country age. I remember Roderich saying something about having a discussion with Gilbert and a few of his generals that afternoon. I was on the stairs at the time, listening to him in his study. As soon as I heard this, I went to my room and grabbed one of my inkwells; the blackest I had. I waited for the maid to brew the tea that she would serve him every afternoon, and as quickly as I could, I poured the ink into his tea. It was black tea, so no one would know the difference. Then, I headed back to my room and only came out when Gilbert arrived. So, the discussion finally came around and I meant to go to my room while it played out. Usually, Roderich would shoo me out when I set one foot into his study, but Gilbert insisted that I stay in the study with him while the meeting was going on. Roderich couldn’t understand why we had all been laughing when we went into his study. Gilbert told me that black teeth didn’t look so bad on the fool. And the next thing I knew, I was packing my bags and leaving for (country capital).”

Ivan chuckled here and there at your story, taking quite an enjoyment from it. Quickly after finishing your small tale, you regretted telling him, letting the warm laughter in your chest fade away as well as your smile. You were treading on your promise and began to blush from embarrassment. You drank once again, having only a quarter of vodka left in your glass.

“I think I now understand why you are so disobedient to me.” Ivan said, but his smile somewhat vanished when something crossed his mind. His purple eyes became lazy and stern. “Am I like Roderich to you?”

That question shot a bullet through your head and knocked you to the ground. An icy hand wedged itself into your spine and yanked it hard, turning you pale. How had a question like that never entered your mind? It was so clear! Your eyes widened a bit at the correlation between the two men. You turned your head to Ivan, seeing that he was studying you, waiting for an answer. But...they were a paradox.

Ivan and Roderich had so much in common and, yet, they didn’t. Both of them cared about their appearances, but they had different definitions of appearance. Roderich saw his attire and style as being superior, but Ivan only saw his ways of execution and Bolshevik leadership as being vital. They shared the same color eyes, but they didn’t. Roderich’s eyes were of a scrutinizing and dark indigo, never showing any remorse or sympathy for whomever they lay upon. Ivan’s irises were of a violet shade, holding madness, overwhelmingness, and possessiveness.

It all came down to their ways of cruelty. Knowing the Austrian for most of your life, Roderich was unforgiving, even for the most innocent and petty crimes and accidents. Never did he give you a thrashing, but he did slap you across the face a few times as a child. That stopped once Gilbert found out, but he couldn’t stop the Austrian’s harsh remarks about you. Even you, a Germanic, could label him as a grade A kraut.

Ivan, however, was different. He had a childlike cruelty and fascination towards you and most of his victims. Sure, he handled you roughly at times, but it seemed to ease throughout the years. At first, he was aggressive and very forward with his agenda, having absolutely no sympathy for you. But recently, he had become more merciful. You even went as far as to question why he hadn’t backhanded you after what happened at the world meeting. He abused everyone who wasn’t you with his hands; never laying a finger on you unless it was for lust, but even that was beginning to subside into something else. You didn’t know what.

Truly, they were a paradox. You had to be truthful.

“I-...I can’t say that you are.” You dubiously said to him, keeping your voice a soft mumble.

Ivan stared at you for some time. It wasn’t a harsh stare and nor was it hawkish. He wasn’t smiling or frowning. He just appeared to be in thought, letting your answer soak into his mind. It was a scene quite like the one at the winter gathering; him peering into you hypnotically, absorbing your answer and you stiff in your boots with a vulnerable fear in your eyes. It was alluring.

“It seems I have been replaced.” Growled a low and thunderous Russian voice after the tavern’s door slammed shut.

The voice was too familiar and unforgettable to you. Ivan was drawn from his stare and turned to the man. You took to returning to your senses and leaned forward towards the bar counter, poking your head around Ivan to see.

Your brows furrowed and a vexed mien simmered in your (e/c) eyes. Heat fumed around your ears as Volkov stood there at the edge of the bar with two other men. One of the men looked like the soldier you ran into at the winter gathering; the one that looked like a younger Volkov. This had to have been his son. The other seemed to be a nameless lieutenant of the same age as Volkov.

“Volkov.” Ivan beamed, smiling with delight, though his heart leapt at the sudden sight of his lieutenant. He didn’t expect him to be here on this evening. Ivan’s attention turned to the younger image of Volkov, but kept his conversation with his old friend. “And is this your son?”

“What is this Nazi doing here, Braginski?” Volkov snapped in his native tongue, dismissing Ivan’s question and instead becoming enraged at your appearance there. Ivan turned and hopped off of his stool and confronted his lieutenant. You couldn’t see his face; you could only hear him and watch his gestures.

“We’re discussing some business, Volkov. Nothing more.” Ivan insisted sternly, taking on an entirely serious look. Volkov glared at the many glasses that were on the bar counter, including the one that you had in front of you.

“Business is not four glasses of vodka, Braginski. Especially, with that fascist.” Volkov spat, pointing at you with his hat. Ivan tsked.

“I thought we settled this at the gathering.” Ivan groaned, dating back to the verbal quarrel at the winter celebration. Volkov smirked viciously, almost disturbingly.

“We settled no such thing, comrade. You said that we were to bury the hatchet for that night and that night only. Not for all eternity.” The old lieutenant jeered. The bar seemed to go silent within a second’s time. Some not quite so tipsy soldiers and drunken men peered out of the corners of their eyes and from under the brims of their hats.

“Oh, come now, Volkov. Can I not talk about crucial matters with one of my union members over a drink?” Ivan whined with a laugh, hoping that his right hand man would come to his senses and not to be so offended by the image. “I mean, you and your company are welcome to join us on such matters.”

“Be serious, Braginski.” Volkov scoffed, stepping up to Ivan, putting his hands behind his back. “I never would engage in any conversation, nor breathe in the same room with that cutthroat.”

You sighed, swallowed the rest of your vodka, and put the empty glass down on the wood. Not knowing whether it was the drink or the damn lieutenant or the fact that they were speaking as if you were not there; your blood was boiling hot. The air was becoming thin and awkward.

Glancing at the two bickering Russians, you felt a pair of unpleasant eyes weighted upon you. Shifting your gaze to the side, you spied your spectator, staring back at him with narrowed eyes. The soldier had his cobalt daggers pointed at you, harshly ogling at you from the edge of the bar. He had absolutely no interest in the argument that took place between you and him.

He dressed himself with a stiff and stony exterior and seemed to be devoid of any feeling but pure coldness. You could have sworn that his lips had never been upturned in all their years; that they have never transformed into a smile or even the slightest smirk. Intimidating, yes, but you could manage and triumph a fight against him if it came down to it.

However, with all of these incredibly callous features, there was one that screamed the loudest from him. Something was off about him. His eyes were the gateway to an even more sinister man. This creature’s son; this soldier, whom still was without a name, seemed to lick his lips at you, mentally. He looked as if he were hungrily eating your very appearance; not quite in a lustful manner, but enviously. It was an almost indistinguishable stare to that of the night of gathering. He was utterly atrocious to continue looking upon; a bad vibe.

“Be reasonable, comrade. It’s just a small ceasefire, that’s all.” Ivan insisted, bringing his voice down to a humble coo. Inside, he was incredibly agitated and annoyed. With the mix of three glasses of vodka and a heated argument, there was no telling how long Ivan would last before he sincerely flicked his flame out in the open. He persistently tried to remain jovial. “Won’t you have a drink?”

Volkov hideously smirked at this and sharpened his steel eyes. He chuckled with his chest, rudely.

“Of course I will.” The lieutenant said as he wandered a bit closer to Ivan, and ever so venomously, added another statement. “If you make her leave.”

With his convivial air melting away, Ivan looked at Volkov, his lazy smile slowly depressing into a serious and thoughtful frown. He was realizing what this discussion had come down to. This whole argument was like play with this moment being the tipping point.

Ivan took a moment to glance from Volkov to his two companions, both being unfazed by the request, but silently eager to discover the answer. The son, especially, seemed to be completely drawn in, hungry for the outcome to this performance. As if in hesitation, Ivan looked over his shoulder at you with an angered, yet painful stare. He did nothing more, but look at you as if you were an embarrassing burden.

Lazily staring back at him for a few long seconds, you slowly smirked at him, getting the hint. You were not at all surprised for his reasoning. You knew that Ivan had a choice and he had to be wise, careful, and biased. Either he was to object to having you leave in front of dozens of eyes and ears that would be too happy to spread rumors about him.

Or he was to have you wander back to the Kremlin and stay loyal to his cruel, Bolshevik propaganda. But it was obvious to you which one mattered to him most. And, of course, having you stay could be dismissed as a possible option. This was just like the dance. Turning, you hopped off your stool, and strode up to the Russians, still smiling from the ridiculousness of it all.

“No, no.” You addressed the men in Russian with a sarcastically happy manner, almost sounding tuneful. “There’s no need. I’m sure Mr. Braginski would enjoy the company of three women instead of one.” And you passed them up.

The four of them watched as you opened the entrance of the bar, and walked out, closing the thick door behind you, gently. Some of the sober-enough men further in the tavern released their breath and observed in fear as you left, afraid that you would have started a bloody fight. But Ivan stood there, staring at the door. Thinking agonizingly.

  
  
  
  


New snow had fallen and it crunched beneath your boots. There wasn’t enough to make you have to trudge and kick up your feet, but that could change at any moment for the black night sky was beginning to descend its tiny, frozen bodies once again. However, the amount that was falling at the time was very little.

Honestly, it felt nice to walk without hurry over the two inches snow and to float through the white, winter petals that fell from above. A few snowflakes landed on your (h/l), (h/c) hair, tracing their small and cold fingers down the strands as if to feel a similar sort of softness to that of themselves before melting away.

The streets contained a few pedestrians; you could count them because of how little there were. At least five people were scurrying along on the other side of the street, opposite to you. They were all bundled in coats, most likely heading home to avoid the upcoming snowfall, unlike you who was dressed a lot more on the slim side with your uniform. And being that it was your new one, your legs were now visible than being covered by the previous trench coat.

Instead of a blue aura tinting the streets of Moscow, a warm and orange, most like the light in the bar, illuminated the snow and made the buildings darker. This luster was caused by the streetlights that stood towering at every corner, telling everyone that the day was over. Many of the shops, restaurants, and flats that you had passed were lifeless and empty. Everything was asleep. Your mind, however, wasn’t.

_ “How foolish of me.” _ You thought, dreamily looking down at the snow covered walk with your hands buried in your pockets, wearily smiling.  _ “Thinking that I could redeem myself after a night of betrayal for my first attempt at getting some damn information. And, instead, I let myself get away again. Now he knows more about me. Well, here’s the second strike. Damn it!” _ You kicked a heap of snow as you ambled.

_ “Why should I even get all worked up that I let that part of me slip into his notes? I mean, it’s not even remotely useful to him. Giving him the codes or the location to one of my most deadliest nuclear weapons is one thing, and I’ll be damned if I let that slide. But...allowing him the knowledge of my family values and my difficult relationship with my cousin? It’s completely useless!” _ But you cut yourself short to wince at that thought.

_ “No… He has no right to know. It’s private.” _ You started to tear up, but did not cry.  _ “And why should I give a damn that he chose his commie goons over me? Why should I?! What should I expect from a Soviet? Why, he hates me! If I were human, he would have had me executed by a firing squad the minute he had me in his hands. Or, perhaps, have me strung up by piano wire like the very Jews the third reich put to death. He he he… Oh Ludwig, if you could see me now, you’d be ashamed; you, too, Gil. I’m slipping; slipping too quickly!” _

You took your eyes off the ground for a moment to catch a glimpse of the Kremlin building. It was just a few more yards away, but you didn’t quite feel like heading inside of it just yet. You blinked a few times and realized that you were standing in a dark area of the Kremlin where the oak trees grew overhead. At this time of year, they were bare and skeletal, providing no shelter from the falling snow. There were several snow covered benches lining the edge of the walkway. You hesitated before sauntering towards the one that was closest to you. You decided to sit for a while before turning into the large, government building for the night.

Dusting off the buildup of the snow, you sat down on the chilly bench. You then rested your elbow on your knee and put your jaw in your hand with your body leaning forward, too frustrated and tired to put your foot over your knee. Your other arm rested limply on your thigh and did not move. And you mentally rambled again.

_ “You know, Lud? I’ve only remembered how to speak German and Russian. Funny, isn’t it? It seems that every language I studied so hard to master and learn has left me and does not retort back. I have even forgotten huge portions of my musical capabilities. The piano and violin are almost strangers to me now. I’m not even sure if I can play. The musical notes are fading fast from my memory, Ludwig. It will only be a matter of time before I can’t recall what an E minor is.” _

_ “Damn it!”  _ You scolded yourself for sounding like you were writing a farewell letter to your unshackled brother. You let some time pass before thinking again. Somewhere in Moscow, a distant bell rang out, chiming ten times. 10 o’ clock.

_ “Ivan, you ass.” _ Your lip trembled faintly and your tears finally fell from your glassy eyes. The tears glistened and sparkled in the dark with the moderately distant streetlights. You quickly wiped your eyes, ridding them from the worst of the tears, but they still lingered on your waterline. Then, you went back to your previous position. A knot formed in your stomach and a salty strain pulled on your throat and tongue.

_ “How dare you… How can you be so ugly? I’ve met with some of the most horrid and repulsive human beings on earth. But you… You top them off! You’ve taken almost everything from me! You’ve had your soldiers raid through my country, stripping away all of my riches, leaving nothing. Night and day, they beat, starve, and rape countless women and children, degrading the very nationality that they are! And they have nowhere to go: they are walled in. Fathers and older brothers are taken from their homes to be sent to work camps in Siberia only to never go back home. For fuck’s sake...your army even kidnapped children from their own schools and homes, holding them for ransom until their families were penniless. But even then, their children would not come home. And the rest of the world is completely oblivious of this. Because I am censored… You haven’t changed in the slightest.” _

Your lower lip trembled again.

_ “And… And yet I pity you.” _ The tears fell from your eyes again, but they did not roll down your cheeks. They fell right into the snow by your boots and there was nothing to wipe away. _ “I pity you that you are like this; that you would choose to be cold and yet sympathetic to me. You make me do the most humiliating things...I even gave you consent... And I can’t help but thank you for turning me away tonight; to not care at all that you sent me back to my quarters. I care that you were cruel to me, because at least I know that you are still a Soviet. And I am glad that you hate me, because- God dammit! I hate you! And now I know that no matter how many times you claim that you have concern for me, you will always hate me. And I love that about you.” _

You almost wanted to take back everything you blared in your mind. You realized that you were mentally spewing things you didn’t mean, but it was the sad and shameful truth. You thought of nothing else all the while you sat there, letting your tears recede and vanish. It wasn’t until a quarter of an hour later did you hear gradual footsteps in the snow behind the bench you were seated at.

Not being alarmed in the slightest, you continued sitting, not stirring at all at the approacher. You knew too well whom it was. All physical signs of weeping and desolation were gone, but you were mentally upset once again, confused as to why he had left the bar. Now, you were starting to frustratedly question your internal rant.

The footsteps stopped just a meter behind you. He didn’t say anything. Half a minute passed and you broke the quietness.

“I thought you said he was in St. Petersburg.” You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. There was a moment’s silence between you two, and there was a sigh.

“I lied.”

You smirked angrily into the darkness.

“But I didn’t know he was going to be there.”

“Yeah, well…” You sighed, trailing off, and you stood up, dizzily, walking towards the middle of the walkway. You blinked a few times as your vision became fuzzy.

“Look… I’m- I’m sorry I upset you-”

“Don’t fucking apologize!” You spat at him, turning around to face him with your fists bawled. Your eyes were sharp and livid as well as your teeth, gritting them like a mangy cat. Ivan shot you a surprised and unapproved expression, his violet eyes just peeking out from under the brim of his hat. Some silence returned as you both stood there with different miens.

“Why didn’t you let me be?” You added in a rapid growl. Ivan stiffened his appearance and became much more stern.

“I couldn’t let you go alone.” He stated, blinking slowly. “You are not allowed to go anywhere without any supervision.”

You scoffed at his answer, almost laughing, looking away for a moment to smirk in irritation. Now, you actually did laugh, and you turned back to him, shaking your head with a frustrated smile.

“Why are you like this?” You asked, stretching your arms, holding them there for a moment and then letting them fall back to your sides.

“What do you mean?” Ivan replied, furrowing his brows grimly and worriedly. He was afraid that you had gotten too much to drink, even though it was one glass of vodka. But even a small amount can make someone hysterical. However, that was not all he was afraid of.

“Don’t be an idiot, Ivan! I’m not in the mood for stupidity!” You snapped, reverting back to your previous state. “One minute, you’re threatening me and my brother’s very existence and talking to me and treating me as if I were a damn dog.” And you stopped, abruptly. Your voice suddenly became very low, quiet, and shaky.

“And the next, you’re telling me that you pity me and you’re taking me out for drinks. And...you take me to see my brother, which you despised the most and promised to never let happen.” You felt very sick to your stomach after telling him all of this, and your head throbbed, painfully. You weren’t even sure if it were wise of you to do so. “What’s wrong with you?”

Ivan furrowed his brows much more aggressively. Even he started gritting his teeth. And he very forwardly strode past the bench and walked towards you.

“You’re drunk, (Y/n).” He growled, his eyes shifting into a menacing and annoyed violet. Stepping backwards, you tried your best to avoid getting snatched so quickly. You pressed the palm of your hand on your temple, seeking to ease the twinge.

“Fuck you, Ivan!” You hissed as your head ached worse, not noticing the blood that slowly trickled out of your right nostril.

A blood vessel had burst from your combination of stress, anger, and intoxication. Your vision continued to get foggy, making you squint your eyes. The Russian got closer and suddenly quickened his pace as he watched you stagger back.

“(Y/n).” He said, becoming troubled with your deliriousness, wanting you to come to your senses. But you felt your head spin and grow light. Your eyelids were weighted and, soon enough, your sight blackened.

“(Y/n)?” He said again, but you were so dizzy and you felt yourself go limp and fall to the side, swooning. Your head hit the icy ground and your limbs sprawled to the side.

“(Y/n)!” And he ran the rest of the way, his boots stopping at your side. He crouched down, got on one knee, and pushed some of your hair out of your face. Though you seemed more relaxed from the sudden drunken rapture, your brows were still slightly pained. He then placed a gloved hand on your shoulder and shook you gently, trying to get a response.

“(Y/n)!” He whispered shaking you, hoping that you would stir. The only movement that quivered out of you was your frigid fingers slowly and weakly gripping the snow. It was a pathetic reply, telling Ivan that you still had some consciousness. But other than that, you were too delirious to move.

He sighed and tilted his head up, looking around and scanning for any spying eyes or visible pedestrians. His eyes darted everywhere, hoping that no one would be around to see him or witness the difficult event. There was no one he could see from the orange illumination.

Ivan returned his attention to you and scooped one hand under your side and the other under your knees. In one fluid movement, Ivan stood up with you in his arms. Again, he was shocked at how light you were, but not as dreadfully weightless as the morning he found you under the bed.

Turning in the direction of the Kremlin, Ivan walked towards the large building, carrying a lifeless you. But as soon as Ivan started ambling down the way, you stirred in his arms.

“I can walk, Ivan.” You murmured, wearily with your eyes still closed, half of your face wet with snow. But Ivan continued walking.

“No, you can’t.” He cooed as the snow started to thin out before finally stopping. The rest of the distance was taken up by silence. You didn’t protest or shift, but you did shiver faintly from the decreasing temperature and pressed against him. Ivan walked for many yards before he made it to the entrance.

After being let in by the guards, Ivan sauntered into the dark, hollow, government building. The air was still freezing cold from the vacancy. His boots echoed off the walls and empty space as he climbed the stairs. He walked down the many hallways and finally made it to the corridor that you shared.

Passing up his room, he pressed on to your room. Luckily, you left the door open just a crack, allowing Ivan to tap the door fully open and walk inside. It wasn’t as gelid in your room as the main entrance or the hallway, but it was still plenty cold and dark. However, the Russian was able to carry you towards your bed.

Quickly, bent down a little to grab the blankets and pull them back, nearly juggling your legs. Tenderly, as if he were handling a dove, Ivan laid you down, careful not to hit your head on anything. After doing this, Ivan stood, straightening himself to observe your forlorn state. He almost wanted to blame himself for this outcome and the difficulties of the evening. He had left the company of his own comrade just to look after you. Even if you had not been delirious and had went straight to your room, he would have gone after you. _ But why? _

He looked over at your boots which were caked with snow and ice. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he held your calf with one hand, and began unlacing your boot. Just as he was halfway through, you shifted tiredly. Weakly, you kicked him with your other foot. Ivan frowned, irritated and unmoved by your pitiful attempt to stop him.

“You can’t sleep with them on.” He growled, continuing with his work. You didn’t kick him again. Pulling off the boot, Ivan set it on the floor, and began working on the second. Another minute later, the second boot was off, and put with the other on the wood.

Taking off his gloves and shoving them into his pocket, Ivan turned his attention towards your torso. He knew that your uniform top was drenched and wet with melted snow. There was no way you could sleep with it on. But it was going to be tricky for him to get it off. You could strike out at him at any moment even with how drunk you were. You were unpredictable with your movements, so he had to take caution.

Carefully, Ivan unbuckled your belt and slipped it out of the loops around your uniform’s waist. After setting the belt on the floor, he unbuttoned the front, slowly. With limpness in your hands, you grabbed his wrists with little to no strength. Another pointless attempt. However, Ivan stopped for a brief moment.

“I’m taking off your uniform. Nothing more.” He whispered, and went on with his odd objective. Your grip slackened and he moved his hands again, freeing them from your grasp.

Having opened your uniform front, he wrapped one arm around your back and pulled you into a sitting position. You leaned against his chest and you sleepily gripped onto his lower back, having your arms loosely wrapped around his waist. With his other hand, he shrugged and pulled one sleeve off of your arm. He switched hands once he got to the other sleeve. Ivan immediately flung the top to the floor once it was off. The damp uniform was finally off of you, leaving you in just your black turtleneck, pants, and socks.

You were still leaning against his chest when it was all finished and your arms had receded lifelessly to his waist after each one was taken out of the sleeves. Your frozen fingers clung to his warm uniform, unsteadily hanging onto him. Ivan sat there with his face tilted down at your head. It took him a moment to realize that he was still sitting you up with one arm.

He felt his mind clear as the soft breathing from your nose filled his ears. He thought you may have fallen asleep while he was undressing you. Not wanting to wake you, he put his free hand behind your head, and gently laid you back down. He removed his hands once your head melted into the firm pillow. Then, he wet his thumb with his tongue, and delicately wiped away the sticky and somewhat dry blood from your upper lip. It wasn’t gone, but it was mostly wiped away; it was the best he could do.

Ivan didn’t leave just yet. He actually sat there for a few minutes, watching, thinking. For a second, he wanted wake you; shake you until you opened your eyes and gave him your attention. But he couldn’t find the nerve to do it. He desired the need to ask for pardon from you again, though he already heard your reply.

_ Don’t fucking apologize! _

But he knew what you really meant. And that’s why he was afraid of you talking out in the open like that; that you would reword it or repeat yourself. Your entire ramble was too damning to be heard by anyone else in the area but him. Before, he had even considered running up to you and cupping your mouth to keep you from saying too much; jumping the gun. He didn’t want anyone to know; no one but you and him.

Ivan knew that spies were crawling all over Moscow, recording and watching his every move, and he had to proceed with caution. He wanted to make it clear that he hated you, because you made it obvious that you hated him. Everything would be fine if you both added fuel to each other’s fire. However, he wasn’t keen on how well he could hide this sudden pity. What was worse was that he wasn’t even sure if he could trust you with keeping his leniency on you a secret.

Serenely, Ivan took a lock of your (h/l), (h/c) hair between his thumb and index finger, and gently rubbed it, feeling its texture. Gradually, the strands of hair fell from his hand as he loosened grip, and finally let go. Then, he stood up and placed the blankets over you. He turned around and walked out of your room, closing the door softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're feeling up to it, go ahead and tell me how you feel about the story so far! Opinions have become an addiction of mine *shrugs*. Thank you for reading!


	24. The Orange Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crawling on my hands and knees and pressing Post Without Preview from of lack of sleep and horrible school days and massive projects and responsibilities*
> 
> I did it! My 24th chapter! I promise that you'll love this one and I'm already starting on my next chapter (this chapter was really fun and tricky to write.) Some of these chapters might be delayed because of my terrible school schedule, but I am constantly working on it and enjoying it. I'm not going to abandon this; I'm finishing this baby! Thank you for the support, I really appreciate it! :)
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment on how you feel out the story and the evolution! Make predictions if you want! I'm glad to hear them! I am willing and always happy to answer!
> 
> If you haven't seen it already, don't forget to check out my Tumblr: TheKittyOnMars  
> Thank you for reading! :D

March 20th, 1962  Moscow  1:59 PM  Ivan’s office

Ivan’s eyes only glanced up momentarily at the man that stood in the doorway of his office, not seeming to be too interested in his appearance. In fact, he expected him to be there in the nick of time once he sent out a phone call for Ivan, requesting to meet him in private. The Russian nation resumed his writing with his head resting in his other hand, jotting down responses to miscellaneous government officials.

“Well, it seems that you’re right on time, lieutenant.” Ivan said as Volkov walked further into the office. The old lieutenant’s steps weren’t exactly contempt in sound. They were storming and harsh to the ears, giving Ivan the intention that he was not in a pleasant mood. But he expected him to be in this sort of state.

Volkov stopped abruptly in front of Ivan’s desk, despotically scowling down at him. He didn’t bother pulling up a chair or making himself comfortable for the personal discussion. He wanted something and he wanted it now, not giving any pavement for bickering or friendly gestures.

“What are you playing at, Braginski?” The lieutenant demanded in a rancorous grunt. Ivan looked up at him mischievously, toying with his visitor. A smirk pulled on one side of his lips.

“Whatever do you mean, comrade?” Ivan chuckled, irritatedly, trying to play off his hidden anxiousness. Volkov scoffed angrily, nearly snorting.

“Pah! Fuck off, Braginski!” Volkov barked, menacingly glaring with wide eyes at the nation who resumed his work. “You know what the hell I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Ivan said, scribbling along the document, attempting to keep himself occupied.

“Well,” Volkov began, walking around the desk, gesturing with his hand, all while keeping his daggers on Ivan, “let’s start with the obvious...which is the Nazi.”

Ivan did not reply and, instead, let the lieutenant ramble on. However, beneath the surface of his playful and smirking exterior, Ivan was throbbing with both nervousness and annoyance. The reason for annoyance was answerable. He wasn’t in the mood to hear his lieutenant rant or complain. But he was agitated at the same time for the very reason Volkov was fussing. You.

“At the winter gathering, you criticized me for calling her the very thing that she is, claiming that I should ‘bury the hatchet’ for that night. I nearly vomited while agreeing to that very demand of yours. And on that same night, my Sabrina comes crawling to me, telling me that Ivan Braginski refused to dance with my little girl, because he ‘had something to attend to’? And then the next thing I know, I take my son, Dmitri, and Lieutenant Koch out for a drink and what do I find?” Volkov said smiling indignantly as he put his hands on the corner of the desk, leaning towards Ivan. He was still silent, but continued working. His handwriting was becoming more aggressive as Volkov continued.

“I find one of my most trusted friends, a powerful icon to Russia, sitting down and having a drink, in public, with an undesirable fascist.”

Ivan paused, finally looking up at the lieutenant, raising a stern brow. He then sighed.

“I hope you didn’t place this meeting in my work schedule just to bitch, lieutenant.” Ivan said, shuffling together his finished portion of his work.

“You are not to treat that  _ thing _ in such a way, Ivan!” Volkov growled, slamming his fist down on the desk with a mild force. This caught Ivan’s attention, making him glare intensely at Volkov. “You know what she has done.” He whispered shakily. “She does not deserve any sympathy. She is a criminal and a threat to our very way of life!”

Ivan furrowed his brows in vex, his upper lip on the verge of upturning. He could feel an angry heat radiating on his scalp.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Ivan muttered, standing up slowly to appear legitimately threatening. “Do you not know what I am trying to accomplish here, Volkov?!”

“I don’t care what  _ you’re _ trying to accomplish, Braginski! I’m not going to allow you to dishonor yourself and all of the men that have given themselves up to you in order to capture this murderer!” The lieutenant boasted as he straightened himself, taking his hands off the desk.

“Apparently, you’ve never heard of the term ‘befriend and betrayal,’ my friend.” Ivan angrily smirked. “And it also seems that you have forgotten the little story I told you all those years ago. You remember, hmm? The one about the sheep, the wolves, and the man?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Volkov snorted, a bit baffled by Ivan’s reasoning. The Russian nation breathily tittered through his teeth as he walked out from behind the desk.

“You see, my friend, (country name) has been completely blocked off from the rest of the world. I have her snared and imprisoned in my own hands with nowhere to go; her brother as well. And now that she has no one to depend on but me, I’ve been attempting to try something new on her. If I earn her trust and create a sort of befriendment, I can take a most damaging and profitable advantage. I’ve decided to...oh,” Ivan began, trying to find the right words, sarcastically as he met Volkov on the other side of the desk, standing face to face, “take her under my wing.”

“Take her under your…?” Volkov repeated in disgust, trailing off. “Are you mad? She may be a deviant to our very society of the people, but she is no idiot; so I’m afraid to say.” The lieutenant began to grumble with his words, sounding both piqued and haughty. “I’ve dealt with delinquents of her affiliation; those  _ ‘specialists’ _ that call themselves heroes to their country. I despise even calling them specialists. There is nothing special about them other than the fact that they are murderers and a threat to the people.”

Volkov then stepped up to Ivan, getting close enough to smell the morning cigarette on his breath.

“I know how they function, Braginski.” Volkov growled, lowly. “I kill them everyday; even torture them. Sometimes, I feel like the war isn’t over. Because these _ ‘specialists’ _ , these Nazis are still in (country name) and I can’t stop finding them. You can turn over any rock in that country and you are guaranteed to find one on your first try. They are an unbreakable species of swine that have no negotiable means. They are sly and evil like foxes to hares. What makes you think she’ll trust you? What makes her so special, so...different from Gilbert Beilschmidt?”

Ivan felt his blood boil and a cold knife drive straight into the back of his neck. His pale skin began to sweat from the heat under his scarf. His annoyed smile was now an offended scowl, one that was starting to unease the lieutenant. The violet morphed into a menacing shade; any cruel adjective would do. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“You dare question my authority, Lieutenant Volkov?” Ivan said with an official voice, his eyes pierced into the aged man. In truth, Ivan didn’t know what to say. He knew that Volkov was poking and prodding around his agenda, suspiciously. Ivan doubted that the lieutenant knew he had some feeling of sympathy for you, but he was dangerously close to that idea. He had to steer the man away from it, carefully and cunningly.

“Do you not trust that I know she’s my enemy? Why, are you that stupid, Lieutenant?” Ivan calmly growled, furrowing his brows as he stepped closer to the now discontent official. “I don’t suppose you would mind telling me how I must run the country. Or, perhaps, I should allow you to simply  _ be _ the country.”

“I deal with things much more differently than you do, Braginski.” Volkov swanked in a similarly low tone, standing his ground. But even with his boastful and ballsy attitude and speech, he was shaking in his boots.

“Really now?” Ivan smiled, wickedly. That smile was a warning in Volkov’s cobalt eyes. Unfortunately, his instincts fell behind the shadow of his pride, causing him to go blind.

“I specialize in her kind.” Volkov smirked, sadistically, sounding too disdainful. “And I take pleasure in wiping out the individuals that carry out her methods. You see Ivan,” Volkov walked past Ivan, just brushing shoulders with him, and approached the large window behind Ivan’s desk, “nearly seventeen years ago, I asked you to hand her off to me.” He stared out the window, his hands behind his back as he watched the passerbys in the snowy street. “To choke the information and resistance out of her, that sort of thing. But I saw how bloodthirsty you were; how possessive you were to crush her, to make her fall to her knees. I saw how badly you wanted to degrade everything that she is. And I applauded you for making her collapse and serve the union. Separating her from her brother was most enjoyable to watch and putting the walls up brought a smile to my lips. Even raping the girl was a desirable fantasy of mine back then when I was a younger man.”

Unmoved and attentive was he on the outside, but a silent fire began to crackle within Ivan’s mind and chest. The flames licked at his ears and throat as Volkov continued.

“But now that I see that you’ve been taking this too slowly, I can’t help but wonder how far we would be if I had advanced my impulse to take matters into my own hands, Ivan. I wonder what things would be like if you had allowed me to squeeze the information out of her.” He growled fancifully, making his fist crackle and pop as he said the word ‘squeeze.’ “I would have had the information so quickly. An interrogator would take years to contract any data from a (country name) specialist. But I can have files of information in the palm of my hand in less than a few short days. You know, I would often fantasize what technique I would use on her. I usually imagined hanging her up by her feet and draining the blood from her throat. You’d take me for a madman, but they’ve done ill to us, and you know that. Which is why we must be the worse than  _ them _ . I know that you and I see eye to eye on these fascists, but I feel that we must take our ways of gaining information to the next level.”

“And what do you desire in order to do this?” Ivan growled, his back to the lieutenant and a most unpleasant scowl painted his face. Volkov turned his head towards Ivan and ambled away from the window. He stopped just a few short feet behind Ivan and replied.

“(Y/n) Beilschmidt.”

Ivan chuckled softly, sounding rather amused with the lieutenant’s answer. And he slowly turned around, facing Volkov. His smile appeared to be vicious and mocking to the middle aged Russian, causing him to confusedly panic in his mind. He wasn’t sure whether Ivan was angry or irritated, but one thing was for sure. Ivan didn’t look too pleased with his suggestion.

“And you think I’ll give her up to you?” Ivan smirked, threateningly, gritting his teeth. Volkov did not reply. What could he even reply with? Any answer would land him in Siberia. After a moment, Ivan pushed past Volkov with a sigh of a laugh.

“Your silence is most inspiriting, Volkov.” Ivan said jovially as he picked up the carton of cigarettes on his desk. He opened it, popped one out, and brought it up to his lips. He placed the carton down on the wood and reached into his pocket for his lighter.

“And the answer is no, by the way.” Ivan stated with the cigarette dangling from his lips, making it dance with every word he spoke. He found the lighter, took it out, and ignited the flame, bringing it up to the cigarette. Once he got it going, he put the lighter away. All while this happened, Volkov watched in an angered awe, utterly offended and displeased with Ivan’s unjust decision.

“What is your reasoning, Braginski?!” Volkov snorted, on the verge of shouting. “How can you refuse me?! Deny me-”

Volkov was cut short by two, large, gloved hands snatching him by the front of his uniform, staggering him and ramming his back against the desk, knocking his hat off. The sharp edge dug into the flesh on his back as Ivan shoved him roughly against the wood, practically looming over the lieutenant with a murderous strength. Volkov’s eyes widened and an abrupt and aggressive shout lept from his lungs at the sudden action. His hand helplessly gripped at the nation’s wrists.

Ivan’s face was an insane portrait of bitterness; happily enraged to say the least. His smile was grotesque and overwhelming with his top row of teeth peering between his lips. The cigarette balanced on his lower lip, the tip of it glowed with heat as the stream of smoke traveled upwards, hazing over Ivan’s clobbering, purple eyes. Truly, they were devastatingly close to swallowing the man below them, encasing him into a chaotic hell.

Instinctively, Volkov’s first thought was to thrash beneath the Russian and possibly escape his clutches. But he knew it was not worth trying. It wasn’t worth considering. Ivan could have him dead in a matter of seconds in this position. All he would have to do is place his hands around the lieutenant’s neck and squeeze. Not even that; he would snap his neck if he made the wrong move. Volkov remained still, but his breathing was choked and afraid. Speaking out would be a terrible mistake of his.

“How can  _ I _ refuse you?” Ivan growled, mockingly. He started speaking very shakily and slowly. His voice creeping all over Volkov’s nerves, rupturing his body with chills and goosebumps. “How can  _ I _ deny you my property? Hehehe… My dear friend, I believe you have forgotten a little something about me. You see, Volkov, she is  _ my _ property.” He said lowly, shaking Volkov at the word ‘my’ and every ‘I’ he uttered. “ _ I _ am her torturer.  _ I _ make the inflictions.  _ I _ control her fate.  _ I _ make her bleed. And most importantly,”

Then, in an explosive bark, Ivan demonically shouted straight into the face of his lieutenant, making him flinch. His cigarette fell from his mouth and landed on the desk.

“I OWN HER!”

He truly sounded like a madman at an institute to the many officials down the hall. Ivan’s smile was no longer present for the thundering holler, instead, being replaced by a maddening scowl. The Slavic man was nearly gritting his teeth in rage at the frightened official below him.

“And it is only  _ I _ who can.” Ivan whispered, letting the horrid and sweet smile return to his lips. His demented, violet eyes gaped into Volkov’s cowering expression, his cobalt irises staring up at him in fear and anger. “Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant Volkov?”

“Loud and clear.” The lieutenant replied after a moment of still breathing.

Ivan’s eyes then trailed off to the cigarette that rested on the desk, just inches away from Volkov’s head. It was still smoking and glowing orange at the tip. He stared lazily at it in thought, and then he smiled, snakishly. He hummed a breathy giggle and released one of his brutish hands from Volkov’s front and stood up straight, still holding the lieutenant against the desk. Ivan picked up the cigarette and held it between his thumb and index finger.

Volkov could only observe in stone confusion and panic as Ivan examined it in disturbing ponder. His purple eyes studied the smoking tobacco product, especially the embered tip that shed a burning heat. After staring at the cigarette for quite some time, Ivan slowly ripped his gaze from it and looked down at the lieutenant, leering eerily.

“Out of all those times that I warned you, all those times that I told you,” Ivan started lowly, nearly humming what he was saying, “it never went to you head. So, I suppose it’s time,” He sighed, turning the cigarette’s ignited tip downwards, “for you to learn not to cross me.”

Volkov’s eyes widened, knowing what Ivan was about to do, and he began to shake his head in denial and fear. His heartbeat double, if not, tripled in speed, blood jolted in his veins. His muscles tensed as Ivan slowly began to recoil the cigarette and set its aim.

“No. No!” Volkov shuddered, shaking his head, squirming beneath Ivan. The Russian strengthened his grip on the lieutenant and smiled wider. Without hurry, Ivan brought the cigarette closer to Volkov’s face, taking his time with the torture.

Volkov removed both of his hands from Ivan’s grip to cease the coming cigarette that was now just a few short inches away from his head. This only further provoked Ivan’s sadism, seeing how a man of daily torture procedures on his own victims crumbles beneath something so petty. Volkov struggled and fought the Russian nation, pushing against him and kicking Ivan’s legs, desperately thrashing his torso to get loose. But it was worthless. He was no match against the country. Nations are tanks; superhumans.

“Braginski!” Volkov shouted at Ivan as the cigarette came dangerously close to his skin, wincing and turning his face away from the glowing tip, feeling its painful heat.

As soon as the tip touched his temple, Volkov squeezed his eyes shut and yelled out in agony as Ivan pressed it hard against the skin, making the hot fire burn for the longest time. Slapping, clawing, and scraping, Volkov’s hands thrashed around, frantically trying to stop the Russian from the torment. Ivan watched and listened in pleasure like a boy burning ants with a magnifying glass.

Ivan held the cigarette there for several long seconds, making sure the burn was inflicted deeply and neatly. Volkov shouted until the cigarette was out, leaving him whimpering and groaning in pain. A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye from the kindled scorch. Removing the cigarette and flicking it away, Ivan oogled at the small, charred circle on Volkov’s temple, the skin turning red and brown. It would be noticeable.

Satisfied with his work and point getting across, Ivan released Volkov, turning him loose. As soon as Ivan let him go, the lieutenant pushed himself off of the desk and put his hands straight to the fresh burn. The skin was tender and scorched and started to gather liquid. It was likely going to boil up in order to heal, something Volkov didn’t want to happen.

“You’ll pay for this!” Volkov hissed under his breath, turning to face Ivan as he walked back around his desk, wanting to continue his work. Ivan only smiled contently and sat back down in his chair, grabbing up his pen to proceed with his writing.

“What am I to pay you for?” Ivan replied, mockingly looking up at the official. “You put yourself in this position. And you received my answer. I hope you’re satisfied with it.” He then went stern, growling as he spoke. “Now get out and stop wasting my time.”

Shocked, Volkov glared and fumed as if he were ruffling up a neck full of feathers. The official was shaking in his boots from both adrenaline and hate; not to mention the fact that he almost had himself killed. He didn’t quite understand why Ivan was so aggressive towards him in recent months. However, he knew that the nation desired a personal infliction on the island of a country that took so much from him. But for the moment, he was too blind with rage to realize that. All he wanted was blood.

With his lips nastily scowling, Volkov turned and stormed out of the room, violently jerking the door open and slamming it shut behind him. The office seemed to rattle from the sudden force, especially the picture frames on the walls. Some of them appeared to almost dance off of their hooks and crash to the floor. But all was silent a moment later.

Several minutes passed and Ivan ceased his writing. His fingers felt stuck. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but he knew he was alone in solitude now, free to act and think as he wanted now. He sighed, plopped his pen down, and leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his beige hair. His fingers applied a soothing pressure along his scalp and then moved them down to rub his eyes.

Once he did that, Ivan’s hands fell to the armrests and his body slouched and leaned into the chair, sluggishly. He suddenly felt so weary and stressed, not finding the strength or the slightest urge to keep working and filling out paperwork.

_ “Close call.” _ He thought with his forehead chilling a light sweat. His heartbeat was gradually slowing to its normal rhythm, allowing the oxygen to satisfy his blood rush. A pressure pushed down on his sinuses and his temples, weighting his mentality even more; a migraine perhaps.

What had just happened was thought out wisely and delicately. He handled it well enough to call it real and just of him. Ivan had acted similarly to Volkov in the past like that, though this time it was a bit more brutal than a slap across the face or a fist to the stomach. The lieutenant wouldn’t know the difference. He should brush this one off just like the others.

But Ivan had his doubts. His stomach churned at the very thought of the whole act being too well-done in Volkov’s senses. Or that he had gone too overboard with his cover up, giving the official a feeling of skepticism over Ivan’s possessiveness of you and his personal ways of infliction. Volkov was loyal and obedient to Ivan’s every request, but the lieutenant questioned those very requests and ways of handling those situations, which was quite frustrating for Ivan.

Of course, if Volkov were to slither about, starting rumors or put his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been, the Russian nation could always land the official in Siberia where he’d be worked to death. A possible private execution would be easily and gladly arranged if the lieutenant found out about the sympathy. Ivan wouldn’t mind his absence. Men were replaceable. Get too smart and you’ll become stupid.

Ivan sighed again. He hated you. He couldn’t believe that he was mentally arranging an official’s execution just so he could keep his sympathy for you a secret. But he shed some light on this thought of his. It had only been a few months since he had discovered this newly found pity. The feeling would wash away like a riverstone in a matter of a few months; maybe weeks. The condolence would disappear and be replaced with his hatred and cruelty for you, allowing him the free will to lay his hands on you for once.

How he once imagined himself throttling the life out of you with his bare hands, or slip a blade along your spine and watch you twitch with the stinging pain. He remembered licking his lips at the thought of the crimson on your bare skin. He was  _ bloodthirsty. _ Even pushing your head under water and holding you there as you struggled to get a precious breath of air made his excitement once quiver, once you were weak enough that is.

But that all left him when the Cell Wall stacked up from the rugged ground and to the tall sky. Thinking about his ways of torture on you to this day made him wince. He was looking at you differently now, and it frightened him.

He desired to hear you scream, to beg, to shudder; to see you bleed, to bruise, to swell, to break, but most importantly, to cry. So far, he has accomplished some. But it’s not applaudable to say the least. Ivan was now shaken by a sudden thought that Volkov would have been right about.  _ Ivan, you’re growing soft. _

  
  
  


March 23rd, 1962   Moscow  4:34 PM  Training Sector Building

 

Overlooking the organized rows of pale, blocky men in black shirts, your (e/c) eyes sternly scrutinized their stature: their stances wide and v shaped, their hands clutched behind their lower backs, and their faces staring blankly forward, not looking away from their imaginary dot. Most of them were drenched with sweat and had buzzcuts, looking similar to each other; a few had their hair at a normal, boyish length. However, you could easily tell them apart as you sauntered down the aisles.

Each trainee had their own personality to their stances. For example, Viktor had his feet a bit too close together, meaning that he was sheepish and not much of a combatant. Boris, on the other hand, had an ideal and perfect stature, but an aura of smugness and sharp ego embodied his every posture. Nikolai didn’t look like the brightest fighter, but Peter took too much time to think out his moves. As for the other thirty six men, they all had their own little quirks to their fighting techniques. Sure, they were trained in the art of your combat, but all of these men had  flaws, and you intended to rip out each and every one of them.

_ Complete the attack. Then, make it perfect. _

That was your motto towards them: attempt the strikes or the maneuvers, then, do them over and over again until they are clean, graceful, and powerful. So far, few have been able to do so, and you’ve had this group for two years now. Making them get the skills right was key and it was a bit frustrating for you, but mostly for them. Rumor has it that dozens of these men stay up nights just to get the forms correct and some of them drive themselves into rages after failed attempts. Others chose to slack off and try to get it right the first time, much like Boris, so you’ve heard...

You taught five groups a day, all of them consisting of forty men; two hundred men in all. Every four years, you would receive new trainees only having standard or mediocre experience in military warfare. Upon the day they are dropped at your feet, you work them hard and brutally, giving them the roughest exterior and interior; making sure that they hate you. That hate would only drive them further, fueling their fire.

Sometimes, they made you smirk out of disbelief for the times they tried something  _ funny _ on you; meaning that they’d try to pull a sly attack on you to gain some sort of revenge. All attempts failed, miserably. One of these ‘brave’ individuals happened to be Boris two years back. After telling him to run five miles before 5:30 PM, he became so fed up with your requests that he tossed himself at you while you had your back to him. Thankfully, he learned his lesson after a crushing blow to the back of his head, the force of the strike causing a tooth to fly out of his mouth. He was lucky he didn’t actually land a fist on you; his response would have been more than unpleasant.

Throughout the years, this group has advanced and proved themselves to be fighters, but at the same time, they weren’t ready for what lied ahead of them. This opinion of yours was kept secret to two people: yourself and the father almighty. You knew they were under-trained on purpose and sent off to a militant base; a deviant and low intention of yours. It was the equivalent of painting a half-finished masterpiece and then slicing the canvas to pieces. In truth, you turned a blind eye at sending these ‘kids’ off to a possible war, not caring what their fate was.

With your hands behind your back, your boots tip tapped slowly and unrhythmically on the concrete floor, only creating a small murmur of an echo throughout the entire metal facility. This usually intimidated the Russian trainees, every step causing their stomach to gain a knot.  _ They are like sheep. _ You thought, glancing at the closest about-to-be soldier, Nikolai, watching his breathing cease as you passed him up.

“Nikolai,” You commanded in Russian as you continued your slow stroll, “widen your stance.” He did so, hurriedly.

“Today, your performance was quite pitiful. You’ve advanced over the years, but you have not killed the snake.” You announced to the men in a stern tone, loud enough for all of them to hear. “Tomorrow, I expect diligence, improvement, and rhythm.”

You only stopped your hawkish ambling once you were behind all of them, watching them from the back. They stood as still as stone, not seeming to contain life or breath for that matter. However, the fact that you were out of their peripheral vision made them ever so anxious, not wanting to get stricken from behind. You only waited a few moments before you spoke once more to the large rows of men.

“You have three months until the exam.” You informed as you turned away from them. “Dismissed!”

Like birds fleeing a burning forest, the trainees turned and headed for the exit of the facility, retiring to their quarters to do as they wanted. The thunderous thudding of their boots on the concrete mimicked that of a stampede, gradually receding in volume as they left. But not all of them had vanished. Just as you were about to head towards your escort, a few pairs of boots hesitantly stepped towards you, but did not approach you.

“Sir.” A husky Russian voice boomed. Boris, no doubt. You glanced indifferently over your shoulder at Boris, not desiring to commute with him. If he ever had anything to say, it would be an offensive remark or a complaint about your instructions. Two other figures came into your line of sight: Peter and Vadim. Now, you were silently perturbed as to why they were staying put.

“A word, if I could?” Boris asked snarkily, wandering towards you with an irking and obnoxious leer on his thin lips.

“You’d better make it quick, Boris.” You sighed, turning fully towards him and crossing your arms. “Idiocy isn’t a favored trait in my eyes.”

The Russian trainee strolled slowly towards you as he spoke, not fully approaching you. As arrogant as he was snide, Boris appeared to have an aura of mischievous pleasure engulfing his body today, one that was more than evident.

“Well, rumor has it that Mr. Braginski took you out to drink.” He stated, sounding as if he wasn’t believing the own accusation that poured from his mouth. Your eyes narrowed and your features simmered with irritation; you said nothing in reply.

“The boys and I had to find out if this was true, eh, Vadim?” Boris smirked over his shoulder to his burly built comrade. Forbiddingly, you stared at the men for several moments, only making Boris press forward with his question. “So, is it?”

“Is the answer of that much importance to you?” You mumbled, slowly.

“No, not exactly.” Boris said, chuckling under his breath, stepping closer to you. “I just think that it’s funny.”

“Funny?” You repeated after him, tilting your head forward just a bit, prodding at his word choice. The trainee raised a haughty brow, his face mimicking that of Ivan’s. You hated it. But at the same time, it gave you some solace familiarity.

“Isn’t it a bit odd for him to sit down and drink with a Nazi? Or a person such as yourself?” Boris mocked, finally looming over you, cockily. Surprisingly, to him, you gave him an odd expression, one that threw him off. Scowling slowly and deviously up at him, you stared straight into his dark brown eyes, scorching them.

“And isn’t it a bit odd for a Soviet to talk to a Nazi? Or a person such as yourself?” You taunted, taking on a similar appearance to your captive brother. Your tone, however, was low and anything but inviting. In fact, it both enraged and startled the about-to-be soldier. He said nothing more, but continued to tower and frown over you.

Seeing that he the rest of his conversation was ceased, you turned away from him and began walking towards your escort. The two men in military attire with rifles cradled in their arms stood attentively, observing the tense exchange between you and Boris, careful not to let it get too heated. A fight was inevitable from most students and it certainly wasn’t a rare occurrence. Peter and Vadim made no movement until Boris aggressively turned around to leave, eventually following after him to the exit. Their boots echoed off of the metal walls as they left, gradually disappearing from perception.

Having your vision focused straight ahead, you nodded to the guards, alerting them that you were finished with your instruction for the day. As soon as you walked between them, they followed after you; one on your left, the other on your right. There was a wide opening in the training sector, one that led to a lengthy hallway and the exit you normally took. Routinely, you walked down the hallway and out the door. Nothing was different about it.

The guards stepped ahead for a moment to push open the doors, having no trust in you to push the metal open for yourself. Some would have considered it a luxury, but you saw it as a doubt and a sign of mistrust. There was absolutely no reliance motioned towards you from the officials, guards, or students. Not even opening a simple door was permitted.

_ “It’s prison life.” _ You thought, mentally snickering at the pompous comparison as your boots stepped onto the wet concrete.

The sunless and crestfallen winter was finally falling asleep and disappearing from Russia. Spring was slowly dawning all throughout the land, as of most of Europe. Many foreigners pictured the ground transitioning from white to green, spreading its blades of grass across vast fields with the occasional pinks and yellows from various wildflowers. The trees would bloom with new leaves, bringing life to the skyline. Each individual branch would climb to the sky; each leaf would gently brush against the blue ocean to catch a warm ray of sunshine. The air would be light, crisp, and dewy, holding so much birth and verve to all that breath it in. Birds would hop from twig to twig; deer would prance from pasture to pasture with their newborn fawns. They say that spring is beautiful.  _ Say... _

Trudging through the mud, you ambled down the dirt path to the heavily guarded gate and to the main street with your escort tagging behind you, closely. Hundreds of bootprints cratered the path; all of them were overflowing with murky water, forming large, muddy puddles. The melted snow created a rainy effect on the earth, plunging the city into a cold and wet rebirth. A coldness lingered in the air and chilly breezes nipped at the noses of every passerby. A white-gray sea was the sky today, casting a bright and indifferent light over the area, providing little to no warmth.

Upon stepping into the streets of Moscow, your (e/c) eyes took notice of the swamped crowds of people. Cars honked and Slavic shouts droned through the air, giving the metropolis a rowdy, yet, private atmosphere. Children trailed behind their mothers and older siblings, tugging on the hems of their coats or whining about the cold hands that bit their red, runny noses. Ancient and busty women in head scarves with elderly faces limped their ways about the shops for various trinkets, their wooden canes caked with mud at the tips. Cars and trucks of similar structure trekked up and down the busy roads and intersections, not caring much about what was in their way. Occasionally, pairs or groups of soldiers strolled along the streets during their free time, off to get drunk in some tavern or stir up trouble with a young, meek woman. All of this, however, was normal; you continued with your objective.  _ “Spring is truly miserable.” _

As you sauntered towards the Kremlin, dozens of pedestrians passed you by, knowing quite well who you were. Of course, most didn’t dare to step in your path nor spit where you walked. Glancing in your direction would rupture a chill throughout their skin, prompting them to stroll a little faster. Mothers would pull their children closer to them or prod and shove them along, hurriedly. Some, however, had the nerve to mutter quietly to one another about you, some political and criticizing commentary. Harsh and revolting was their language and denunciation, spreading rumors or labels through the dense air. This had little to no effect on you. Superhuman were you; human were they.

The Kremlin was a short mile away, but it seemed like hours would flutter by as you traveled. Many of the officials were privileged with the opulence of transportation by car or truck, only needing fifteen minutes to get to their destination. They never had to go through the trouble of pushing past crowds of citizens or sweat from a mile long walk to the capital building. You, on the other hand, were treated much differently than them. Everyday, you were escorted on foot to the training sector no matter the weather. Rain, snow, sun, hail, fog, wind, you walked and you didn’t mind.

This time, too, was used to ponder. The long stroll allowed your mind to wander just as you did, physically. It was a productive way to muffle out the clamorous noise that blared around you. Normally, you would think about the events that occurred throughout the day or daydream about certain topics. Starting with the obvious, you would brainstorm possible ways to escape the manor with Gilbert after some careful planning. But it was arduous to conclude a well thought-out mission for multiple reasons.

You had only been to the manor once and for two short weeks, not given enough time to know the confusing building well enough to remember its every nook and cranny. Not only that, but the manor was crawling with guards, even the perimeter. Escaping would not be easy, but you did not want it to turn into a game of trial and error; being caught multiple times in the act. That would only result in more obstacles and hazards to slip past.

Had your brother not been taken to Moscow as a prisoner of war, you would have no trouble in escaping on your own in the blink of an eye. Bullets would fly past your ears, canine units would chase after you with tearing teeth at your heels, and dozens of Red Army members would be on your tail. You wouldn’t care. But with the threat of Gilbert’s well being in the hands of the Soviets, you weren’t as decisive as to act. Everyone was out to get him and you wouldn’t take any chances. Most of the world wanted him dead.

Today, however, your mind was pacing around several key circumstances, ones that involved the same topic. Ivan.

You hadn’t spoken to him in seven days, not since the night you swooned and fell to the ground. One morning, you managed to catch a glimpse of him when he was headed towards his office, but he took no notice of you. Assuming that he was piqued with you about the incident at the bar, you remained silent, not bothering to confer with him about his quietness. If he were to pout about your behavior at the bar, so be it. You could care less. But at the same time, you did.

Having some odd doubt about your assumption, your memory began to haunt you with his attitude towards you that night, mostly about what he said. He said that he lied about Volkov being in St. Petersburg and never explained why he did. He also followed you back to the Kremlin instead of tagging along with the three officials for the night with alcohol in their stomachs. Even his excuse for his action was meager. But what baffled you the most was that he wanted to apologize to you. Apologize! To you!

Never in this lifetime did the idea of him uttering the two words to you dash across your mind. You rejected the fact that it happened, denying it. He couldn’t have meant it. He wouldn’t have. You didn’t care if he was drunk; if you were drunk. No such words could be structured in a sentence coming from him.

_ “He’s toying.” _ You thought as the Kremlin came into view. It was well over five hundred yards away, but it was within your line of sight.  _ “It’s all he’s been doing since Berlin. This pitying is just another act of his; a damn hustle! He’s not at all sincere. Why should I take his word if he’s lying? Why do I even do that?! He deserves none of my trust!” _

You bit your tongue and a knot formed in your stomach from your thoughts. Ivan was the most disgusting man that you had ever known, and yet, you felt a sense of sorrow.

_ “I know that I am just for thinking about you in this way.” _ You thought, referring to the Russian as you neared the Kremlin. _ “I am not taking back what I said about you all those days ago, both the mental and the verbal. You don’t fool me when you speak. Every word, every mutter, every coo that you sweetly say to me; it’s untrue. You hate me and that’s all I care about. I wouldn’t be angry if you were to take advantage of me that night. Hell, I would have been relieved to find out if you did… Because then I would know that you haven’t changed; that you could care less. Because I want to be positive, to be certain that you hate my every being. You bastard… You Soviet bastard…” _

The large building was now a few yards from you, and casually, you glanced up at it before continuing inside of it.  _ “You know, Boris, it is funny. It is funny that a Nazi would drink with a Soviet. Why would I?” _

And you walked inside with an ache in your chest. It didn’t feel right.

  
  
  


The Kremlin  9:22 PM

 

Sighing softly through your frigid nose, the room creaked as if it were blatantly yawning. A definite chill swept into your room as you turned over on your back, blankly gazing up at the ceiling. The evening was settling in for its long shift, waving its dark hand over the immense municipality.

In the distance of the approaching night, your ears could pick up the mellow and muffled ambience of the disperse city. The remote wailing of sirens blared somewhere in a suburban area. A chorus of feral cats yowled in a nearby alleyway. One of the many felines must have tipped over a trash can; they all went silent in a flash. Every once in awhile, a hound would bark, but that was all. Everything was at its usual state.

Indifferent, blank, and weary, your (e/c) eyes traced its fingers along the many aged and weathered cracks on the ceiling as they occasionally would. Many afternoons you would do this and, to your surprise, it was quite amusing. Such simple lines kept you occupied, following wherever they lead, seeing if they got any further.

For a lengthy three hours, you laid fatigued in bed in your usual afternoon clothes: dark pants, socks, and grey sweater. You didn’t bother pulling the blankets over yourself. Their fragile warmth wouldn’t make a difference with the suppressing, gelid air.

You shifted your head to the door, the jagged lines failing to spike your interest. Lazily, you stared at it. It was at this time that Ivan would come in and check on you, but he hadn’t for several days, which didn’t startle you in the slightest.

Normally, when he was in an unpleasant mood, Ivan would cease to see you face to face. On most occasions, he’d go out for the night, but he would usually inform you before he’d withdrawn from the Kremlin. But with the time being almost half past nine o'clock, he should be in his room. It was quite obvious when you knew that he was finished with work; you could hear his boots clunking down the hallway from your room with the door shut.

It was quiet in the corridor and it had been that way since you arrived back from training. Not a single creak or moan emitted from outside of your room. Even the infrequent rats that scattered in the walls were noiseless. The world outside had more life than the inside, and yet, the silence was louder. You hated it.

Attempting to take your mind off of the stillness of the building, you took to your poisonous and annoyingly addictive ruminations, seeing that it was a less aggravating option. Over the course of many hours, you looked back on your previous ponders in the streets of Moscow and traitorously softened over them.

The ache in your chest didn’t stop its throbbing twinge. It grew worse after you entered the Kremlin. The cause of the pain couldn’t have been from a national ordeal. A devastating effect in your country would have been much more sudden to erupt from your body. Anything minor would have even made you spit out a mouthful of blood by now. But you didn’t. You figured it was something else; you could have guessed.

The past several months had been strange between you and the Russian. And over that time, unanswered questions billowed and gradually overwhelmed your brain, swamping your mind with its toxic demeanor. Unable to organize the jumble of queries, your mind tossed and shifted with countless birds darting here and there about your brain.

The way he was acting around you was different and unfamiliar to your memory. His gestures were now somewhat softened and merciful. He hadn’t called you  _ milaya  _ in months, a typical and clingy name that stuck with his tongue for years. Only now he was he calling you pet, one that wasn’t as harsh as the last. Even the way he spoke to you made your chest swelter with heat, fear, and agitation. Ivan used to be so snarky and infuriating towards you, and, in a way, he still was. But now, it seemed that he had transitioned into a more serious and considerate person to you. Only you.

_ “Why did he lie?” _ You thought, blinking, sleepily.  _ “That lieutenant is everything that Ivan would want to be around. He’s just like him. Why would he lie about Volkov being in St. Petersburg? And why in God’s name did he leave him at the bar? The excuse that he gave me was obvious, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He was off.” _

Slowly, you turned onto your other side, wrapping an arm around your waist. Your (e/c) eyes dreamily stared at nothing; your vision was fuzzy because of how close your eyes were to closing, nearly dipping into sleep.

_ “He could have left me there in the street to freeze, or taken me off to his room to do as he so desired. But...he didn’t. And why did he follow me? Not once, but twice! The gathering and now this; the bar. If this had all happened in 45...” _

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes with a sour expression, attempting to stay awake.

_ “Everyone around him is viewed as worthless, nothing more than dirt and grime beneath his feet. But, suddenly, I am respectable in his eyes? What makes me any different, huh, Braginski? What’s giving you this change? Pity, right?” _

Angrily, yet quietly, you sighed, looking at the small clock on the nightstand. It was nearly ten o’clock now and the corridor was still silent. The absence of Ivan’s door opening and shutting for the night simmered your mood, turning it molten. He had not returned from wherever he was which made you quite restless.

_ “Maybe he’s out drinking again.”  _ You thought, turning your head to the window, noticing how dark the sky was. Only the lamp lights kept the world alive at this hour.  _ “It’s possible, perhaps. However...he would have told me. He always does. Never would he leave without telling me. Maybe he’s in his room-- no. I would have heard him; I would have seen him. His door was wide open when I passed it. He couldn’t be in his room.” _

Then, your mind touched bases with another possibility.

_ “Could he be in his office? He’s never worked this late. Usually, he ends his shift a little after five, but never too late into the evening. If he’s going to work this long, he’s out of his mind. But-- that’s the most credible probability that I have right now. What could possibly be keeping him?” _

You turned back to the door and waited. There was no sound emitting from the hallway. Anxiously, your teeth grinded against each other, wanting the bootsteps to gradually echo down the corridor. Ten more minutes passed; only silence crafted itself outside of your room. Seeing that you couldn’t stand the absence of noise in the hallway, you set your feet onto the floor and got up.

Suddenly, you wanted to go back to bed after you started moving towards the door, but you had gone too far to turn back. You gently pressed your ear against the wood and listened. Nothing.

_ “Maybe… I could-- no. I don’t need to. You shouldn’t care where he is.” _ You thought as you took your head off of the door, wondering if you should check his room.

Stepping away from the door for a moment, you contemplated whether you should go to Ivan’s room to see if he was there. Just for a second. But, then again, other ponders waltzed back to your head, desiring you to go back to bed and fall asleep. The thoughts were nearly pulling on your arms, leading you to sleep, not wanting you to go searching for Ivan. But you didn’t obey them.

_ “It wouldn’t hurt…to check…” _ And with that, you quietly walked back to the door and grasped the handle. Twisting it slowly, you opened the door, careful not to let it creak too loudly. Peering into the dark hall, you noticed that Ivan’s door was still wide open and darkness poured out of the opening, giving you the high indication that he had not returned.

Sighing, you slipped out of your room, closed the door behind you, entering into the shady corridor. With grace and caution, you steadily tiptoed towards his room, slinking like a cat. There was still a possibility that he was there and you weren’t taking any chances. You were not going to let yourself get caught.

You slowed your pace as you got closer to the trim of his door. Heedfully, you stuck your head into his room, the blood pulsing in your neck. With the dim and shadowy light streaming through the tall windows, you spotted the furniture in their indistinct illumination. From what you could make out, the bed was neatly made and untouched. The overall room was tidy and the fireplace seemed to have been swept and cleaned by a maid hours ago. But there was no sign of Ivan ever being there. He was nowhere to be seen. Your heart jolted for a moment.

_ “Where could he be? The only other place he would be is-- the bar or the office...” _ You reassured yourself. Already, your feet started to wander down the hall to check Ivan’s office, but you paused. Heat boiled on your cheeks and around your neck.

_ “Stop, (Y/n). You don’t need to see him. You should NOT care where he is. He’s not worth your time nor your worry. He’s no one to you.” _ An inner voice hissed, holding you back.  _ “Now, get back to your room and stay there!” _

Obeying the tone at first, you started to amble back to your room. But you stopped once more and sighed, taking an interested and perturbed look towards the direction of Ivan’s office. And, within another quiet moment, you stalked down the dark hallways to the office. You couldn’t resist. You wouldn’t rest until you found him. You had too many questions flocking your head and you demanded that they be answered by the bastard. Tonight.

As silent as you could be, you shadowed to the office by the light of the windows, light pollution in the night sky being your only source of illumination. The work rooms were lifeless and empty. All of the officials were gone for the night, slumbering at their homes until their arrival in the morning.

Turning a corner, you arrived at your destination and stopped in your tracks once you were a few feet away from it. The door to the Russian’s office was opened just a crack; an orange firelight slipped through the slim sliver. Apparently, Ivan had a fire going, meaning that he was probably working for the whole night. Paperwork, without a doubt. With the voice still tethered to your mind, you shifted to turn back to your room.

_ “You know where he is, alright? Now, go back to bed.” _ It said, attempting to shove you far away from the Russian’s office. The voice desperately desired that you run away from this place, back to the sanctuary of your room.

However, you remained disobedient to its demands, and crept forward. Ever so gently, your fingertips touched the trim of the door. Holding your breath, you spied through the crack of the door, searching for any sign of Ivan.

From where you could see, the fireplace was flickering with an immense fire that threw its heat about the office. The reflection of the flames flared about the glossy, mahogany wood of the interior. Shadows about the walls, corners, and furniture glimmered and danced to the melody of the crackling and splintering of burning wood. Even the small vent of the crack was streaming with cozy, warm air that more than inviting compared to the cold, gloomy hallway.

Then, as your (e/c) eyes traveled away from the licking flames of the fireplace, your sights set on an armchair that sat before the fire. With the chair being at an angle, you could see a figure resting in it. There sat Ivan, shadow painting half of his body and an orange glow illuminated his face as he stared lazily into the fire. He still wore his uniform and his head bore his officials’ hat, shading his purple eyes from the smelting heat.

Ivan appeared to be in a deep state of thought, the reflection of flames glittering in his purple eyes. His form leaned into the comfort of the chair while his forearms laid upon the armrests. The expression that he possessed was stern, but not in an aggressive way. His lips were unsmiling, but not frowning. His dark brows furrowed ponderously beneath his messy beige bangs. And his hooked nose gleamed with the fire light. Overall, he looked as if he wasn’t to be disturbed.

Staring at him through the crack for several seconds, your mind relaxed, finally knowing where he was dwelling. Your pulse decreased to a steady rhythm, the blood slowing to a normal speed. Your eyes somewhat softened at his appearance, studying him from afar. Though his exterior struck you as being silently frustrated, you had a growing urge to step into the room. Pity or no pity, you wanted to approach him. Hell, you even felt like engaging in a simple conversation with him instead of demanding that your questions be answered head on. But you paused.

_ “Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t want to see me.” _ You thought, sighing noiselessly through your nose. That sudden idea burried your urge, stomping out the hungry flame.  _ “So, what makes you think he would want to see you here…? And why do you even care?!” _

Disheartened by your own mind, you glanced away from him and turned away, slowly. Then, a sharp, rushing spike struck deep inside your chest as a definite and squeaky creak emitted from the floorboard beneath your foot. Your eyes widened and your heart nearly ceased its pumping of blood. Frozen in place, you whipped around and held your breath. There was no way Ivan wouldn’t have heard the clearly audible grate.

Peering through the crack once more, the Russian was no longer staring at the fire. Instead, his head was turned straight towards the door. Ivan’s face consisted of stone and alert, the brim of his hat caused his eyes to simmer in an intense, vigilant, glaring stare.  _ A hawk’s gaze. _ A snake’s scowl was present upon his cold, thin lips. With a dragging growl in his voice, Ivan spoke in his intruder’s direction with maddened, violet eyes.

“Da..?” He mumbled loud enough for you to hear, nearly hissing. From the way he spoke, you immediately made the connection that he was assuming you were a late working official. Now, you had two options: retreat back to your room or open the door or proceed into the office, casting yourself into the lion’s den.

Allowing yourself to take a shallow swallow and mask your face with indifference, you placed your hand on the wood of the door. You had made your decision and there was no turning back. No longer could you hear the mental voice that was now screaming at the top of its lungs for you to slink back to your room. You were blind to its further demands.

Slowly, you pushed the door forward, opening it. Rushing blood clambered your ears as you were only half exposed. Meekly, you brought most of your body out from behind the door, jutting out most of yourself for him to see.

Upon seeing who his intruder turned out to be, Ivan’s appearance diminished to a much more tender state. A few of his features, however, held their severity.

“Beilschmidt-- What are you doing here?” Ivan said with both attentiveness and concern in his tone, shifting as if he were about to stand up. Instead, he leaned his body forward into a hunched, sitting position, placing his hands in his lap. You hesitated before you spoke.

“You-- You never came…” You murmured, staring at him, intently. In truth, you didn’t know what to say. Not a single insult or tone of anger could be felt in your throat nor your mind. A few moments passed and Ivan twitched a faint smile, glancing at the floor. He then parted his lips as if to speak, but he didn’t. You knew why; an apology was dripping from the tip of his tongue. You could read it all over him.

Your eyes then darted from Ivan to the floor several times, unable to say anything further. You felt like leaving. You took a step back, making a started attempt to duck back into the hallway and close the door, but Ivan stopped you.

“Wait.” Ivan softly cooed, on the verge of standing up. You paused, looking back up at him. The Russian waited a moment before speaking again, trying to comprehend that you listened to his demand. “Will you stay for a bit?”

You furrowed your brows apathetically, narrowing your eyes out of suspicion. Taking the hint that you were uncertain, Ivan continued, sounding genuinely honest and sincere.

“I need to talk to you.” He murmured, and he said nothing more. Staring at him, severely, you stood there and considered his words. You, too, had to speak with him, but you weren’t sure if it were about the same topic.  _ You highly doubted it. _

Ivan, becoming a bit impatient, but considerate, lifted a gloved hand and beckoned slowly you with one, gloved finger. With hesitation in your movement, you stepped into the office, closed the door behind you gently, and walked unsteadily towards him. Your heart was beating so rapidly that your lungs were feeling as if they were being crushed. The tips of your ears were fuming with heat.

The floor was grabbing at your feet, pulling them down only to make your few last steps treacherous. Once you were within three feet of him, you noticed that there wasn’t another chair near the fireplace. Just the one. You could have grabbed a chair near his desk, but it was far too late to do that. Of course you foresaw the desire of Ivan’s, to have you sit on his lap, an utmost embarrassing and humiliating situation for you to be in. But at this point, you were alone with him and it didn’t matter as much to you anymore on how demoralizing it was, though you had your own displeasure with it.

You were now within his reach, but he wasn’t fast with his motions. He slowly took you by the wrist and gently pulled you towards him, causing you to turn in order to sit down. Then, his leather hands carefully placed themselves on your waist and drew you into him, allowing you to get comfortable. The top of your head did not reach chin, but it did lean into his chest, lightly. Your feet couldn’t touch the floor; they dangled over Ivan’s.

The tender, orange light of the fireplace embers sent waves of heat across your face. The flames were hot and hungry, but not to an unbearable level for your skin. Already, your face was fuming with heat from multiple causes. Embarrassment wandered around your cheeks and neck and especially your ears. A feverish anger embroided your tongue and throat, turning your saliva molten.

The most irking reason, however, was the heat that came from Ivan. His body was so warm from sitting in front of the fire for so long, and you detested to admit that it felt good. It had been too long since you’ve felt this kind of heat. Your room was always so cold and dank and, gradually, you began to get weary of it. The blankets, the socks, the heating radiator: you were still cold.

Laying your frigid fingers in your lap, you kept your eyes half open, shading them just enough so that the fire wouldn’t scorch them. Like a constrictor, the Russian smirked briefly and snaked his hands loosely around your waist. Then, he tilted his head down just enough for him to place his chin on the crown of your head. You could feel his breath tickling the skin beneath your hair. You couldn’t decide whether you hated it or not.

Neither of you spoke for several minutes. You both just sat there, taking in the heat and savoring its warm hands as they stroked your skin. You enjoyed it.

“We’ll be leaving Monday.” Ivan murmured after some time. “I suggest that you prepare for the visit.”

Your silence was the only answer you gave him.  _ Understood. _ But really that mumbled announcement made your heart spring with a quiet and covered joy. Finally, you would get to be with Gilbert again after waiting for several exhausting months. And it was so soon and unexpected. You weren’t told weeks in advance either which was strange, but you didn’t care at the moment.  _ “Finally, Gilbert.” _ You thought, savouring those very words. _ “It’s been long, but we’ll have our time.” _

Ivan had no particular tone in which he said it, but the time it took him to say it reassured you of his detest for the short reunification.  _ “At least he’s still showing signs…” _ You thought, breathing calmly now. But his silence was murderous. He didn’t speak for another minute, and by the time he did, your mind was trembling with unsettlement.

“You must be wondering why I didn’t show up, nyet?” He asked quietly, his breath stroking the top of your head. Your voice hesitated before answering.

“I-- figured you were working late.” You replied.

“What made you think that?”

“You would tell me if you were going out, and you didn’t.” You mumbled. “So-- I assumed you’d be here.”

“You cease to amaze me with your way of thinking.” Ivan chuckled, sweetly and briefly. Your cheeks continued to rise in heat. A pause erupted between you for a short time before Ivan continued. “But I didn’t stay to work.”

“Why did you then?” You asked. Ivan inhaled for a moment, wondering how he would put this.

“Volkov, my lieutenant, placed an appointment to see me earlier today. At first, I thought it was just business, but from the way my task manager described his call, he didn’t sound so pleasant. In fact, he was quite urgent.” Ivan then shifted slightly beneath you in a rather unsettled way. “Apparently, he hasn’t been quite happy with the way I’ve been treating you.”

“I’m not surprised.” You replied somewhat irritated.

“I know you’re not.” Ivan commented. “But he’s not exactly why I’ve stayed in.”

Silence.

“I’m-- guessing you have questions…” You said, hushedly.

“Do you?” Ivan cooed. Raising a brow, you glanced back at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Yes.” You replied after a moment’s pause. There was no lying about that. You refused yourself to stick your tail between your legs. You desired answers and it would be a struggle to unravel to this man. But so far, you’ve been doing a phenomenal job at doing that.

“What do you need to ask me?” Ivan said as he tightened his arms around your waist slightly.

Your heart was throbbing with blood and your tongue glided side to side against the roof of your tongue. You had so many questions, but you couldn’t think of any. Panicking, you dug deep within your clouded and flustered mind and came up with the obvious, pecking inquiry. But even then, you delayed your question.

“Why did you lie?” You mumbled.

“About what?”

“Your lieutenant wasn’t in St. Petersburg… He was here and you knew it.”

Ivan didn’t answer so quickly. In fact, he would breathe in, hold it, and release it as if he were going to speak, but dropped it.

“I guess I can tell you since it’s just us.” Ivan finally said. He gazed into the fire. “I lied, because…”

He ceased his sentence, not seeming to say anything further. He couldn’t.

“Because?” You growled, turning your head halfway around; an acidic feeling was being delivered all throughout your chest. You were becoming irritated with him.

“I don’t know.” Ivan muttered, lowly. “I don’t know why I lied.”

“What is it, Ivan?!” You snapped in a hushed voice, shifting yourself enough to face him. “It’s me you’re talking to.”

“Exactly.”

“What are you afraid of..?”

“Talking to you.”

“Why?”

Ivan glanced away for a moment, an unsettled smile twitched from his pale lips. He shook his head a little and returned his violet eyes to you. One of his hands slipped to your thigh.

“I’ve been too lenient on you.” He said, unsmiling. “It’s gotten to the point to where my officials have taken notice. I promised them, myself to--  _ hurt you. _ ” He said, his hands suddenly uncoiling from your waist and grabbing you by the front of your sweater in a flash. Reacting quickly, you sat on your knees, fully facing him with your hands on his wrists. Forcefully, he pulled you closer. You ground your teeth together, glaring at him attentively. Your grip on his wrists tightened the more he pulled. His face was aggressive and anything but pleasant, his brows furrowed in an aggravated shape. The menacing purple of his eyes was piercing and unfriendly, possessing the irking indignation that was him.

You carefully watched him, making sure that his gloved hands would not reach your throat. There were many ways you could get out of this, but you didn’t want any signs of damage or bruises. You weren’t going to let Gilbert see that. He’d get suspicious. More than suspicious. He wouldn’t think twice upon seeing the marks. He’d immediately think it was Ivan’s doing and right he would be.

“I planned to _beat_ you with my own hands no matter the costs.” Ivan whispered menacingly, shaking you lightly. “You don’t understand how painfully desperate I was to get my hands on you. I didn’t care if I had to start a war with that pompous, American fool! I didn’t care if a third war would erupt from it! _I wanted_ _you!_ Your white rat of a brother may have the larger land mass and Ludwig an easy target, but you have pride, a pride so strong and sheer that I have to take it! I intended to _shatter_ it!”

Ivan frighteningly leaned forward, causing you to lean back at a strange angle, depending on his grasp to hold you up. Alarm was spreading throughout your body.  _ Was he finally going to do it? _

“And the nuclear tests, the training, the wealth. It wasn’t enough. I’m still hungry.” He shook you again, gritting his teeth angrily like a snarling hound. “And today, my lieutenant wanted to take you from me. He he he… Can you believe it, pet?” He tittered, his accent becoming thicker, smiling in an utmost disturbing way.

“Take you! Away from my order! My hands! Because he doesn’t think I have the guts to make you bleed! To treat you the way he does to all of the specialists he’s captured! He thinks that I don’t hurt you well enough, not even at all! He thinks that I’ve grown weak to a scoundrel Nazi like you.” He growled, his eyes enraging. “I couldn’t stand listening to that idiot ramble on about the very things I wanted to do to you! Because  _ I _ wanted to carry the duty! It was  _ my _ desire! Not his!”

“After all I’ve done to earn my glory, I deserve to own you! Not him! He’s but a mortal. A pitiful and fleshy mortal! Only  _ I  _ am worthy of your suffering. I want to make you feel a pain so horrid that you’ll scream for forgiveness, and I want to prove it.” Ivan was but a few short inches away from your face, his breath hot and lingering the stench of cigarette smoke. His eyes stared you down like an unforgiving predator, a gaze so intense that it was making you tremble. “I want to prove to you, everyone, that I am wicked and a man of pure, sovereign power and strength.”

But after a moment, his eyes softened and leaned back into the chair, sighing as he released you.

“But I can’t.” He murmured almost pathetically.

With your pulse throbbing in your neck and ears, you stared at him with a stunned, narrowed look, his words swirling in your head. You sat down fully, relaxing a bit, and you still faced him, placing your hands in your lap. His statements were of pure hatred for you, clearly. You knew how he wished you were broken beneath his feet and that he alone wanted to be your torturer. But he couldn’t do it… Both of your eyes were somewhat sullen, but benevolent, not seeming to fume with anger any longer for each other.

“Pity…?” You whispered.

Ivan glanced down for a long moment.

“Why?” You asked quietly.

“August 13. Last year.” Ivan began, “I couldn’t stand the sight of you. It was everything I pictured you to be,  _ wanted _ you to be. And, yet, I had gained such a--- a respect...for you. It-- It was too much for me.”

“Why?” You repeated, much more maternally. Ivan slowly put his hands on your hips as he spoke. Your eyes began to get increasingly shiftless and hazy as a strange, flustering heat fumed over your cheeks.

“You’re so young…” He said slowly, appearing and sounding sorrowful and regretful. He couldn’t look at you. “And…it hurts to see a repeating image. It’s too familiar...”

Another moment’s silence broke out. The fire had died down to a cozy and intimate state. The orange flames still danced on the charred wood, slowly licking their tongues over the dark logs. Its heat was much more relaxed and soothing to dwell in.

“Ivan?” You softly murmured.

He looked at you lazily, a similar expression to yours.

“Do you hate me?” You asked him, the heat engulfing you and your mind drifting dreamily.

The Russian didn’t answer. His lips seemed to quiver as if he were about to spit out some sort of sentence, but he never did. His violet eyes kept darting aimlessly and wearily as did yours. It was to the point where neither of you were looking at each other’s faces. You both just sat there as some time passed, glancing at the space between you with your heads tilted downwards. Neither of you knew what to say, but both of you vented a prickly, feverish heat, especially on the cheeks.

Very gradually and vaguely, Ivan began to rub a gloved thumb against your hip. It was so slow and very emotionally irritating for you, but you didn’t mind it.  _ You enjoyed it. _

Just barely, you could feel a similar heat from that of yours from Ivan’s face. It was just inches shy of yours. You kept still. Ivan didn’t. Every few seconds, he would nudge his face towards you ever so steadily and carefully. He still kept his eyes down and sleepy as did you.

You weren’t minding that he was getting closer. You felt hot with heat and different, not knowing how to feel or what to do. The closer he got, the warmer you became, the more your eyes started to close. You even felt yourself drawing near to him. This closeness felt... _ good _ .

His hooked nose brushed your cheek; your’s did the same. Soon, the tip of his nose dragged to the side of your’s, partnering with it. Your shared heat was overwhelming. His face was warm, but not as fevered as yours. You were burning and with many factors: Embarrassment, confusion, fear. Your stomach and lungs were being suffocated. Your nose and mouth were shy, afraid of breathing. Your heart was a biplane’s propeller, beating so fast that it was impossible to see its pumping.

Steadily, gently, slowly, Ivan tilted his head upwards slightly, guiding you to do the same. You did. He guided you back down, but now, his thin, pale lips were millimeters from brushing yours. It made you sick and weighed your stomach. Your lips were parted just a bit, just enough to see a sliver of your milky teeth.

You didn’t understand how you were letting him do this; you didn’t know why either. You couldn’t think at all. All that registered in your mind was the heat and the feeling and bewilderment that rushed in your veins and why it felt good and why it felt okay.

His lips brushed against yours like a feather. They stayed like that for a few short lived moments, and then you felt a soft and sedated peck. There was no pressure. Just touching skin and it sent knots to your stomach. Your vision was so hazy that you couldn’t see Ivan anymore. He was a fuzzy blur to you now.

Again, you felt another kiss less meek than the first, but there wasn’t enough pressure. You didn’t move. Ivan barely cocked his head and parted his lips slightly. Pecking once more, he applied more pressure. This time, you responded and returned a shy and nervous brush to his lips. Becoming braver, Ivan parted his lips a bit more, but he only grazed them against yours, wanting to get more movement, a reaction out of you.

The heat on your cheeks burned and prickled as you hesitated your move. Parting your lips as Ivan did, you moved your head towards him and gently pressed your lip to them. A burst of fire branched and spread throughout your chest as he kissed back. But this time, you didn’t part. Ivan moved his lips slowly against yours. Surprisingly, he wasn’t trying to slip his tongue into your mouth. It was just lips. They felt firm and thin, but soft and warm. Not at all cold.

Not knowing what to do with themselves, your hands meekly placed themselves on his chest, not gripping onto him, but just sprawling themselves there. His hands, however, resided on your sides, firmly holding you.

Having been inexperienced in this, you didn’t know how to kiss. You have kissed Gilbert and Ludwig on the cheek countless times, but never like this. You’ve never had a lover before, human or nation, and Ivan was no lover. In the past, a few young men had caught your eye just before the second war, none of which you ever had a relationship with. Not that the connection would matter since they would age and die later on while you remained immortal. But overall, you didn’t know what it was like or how it even went.

You’ve watched it all over the place and you’ve never experienced it first hand. Gilbert would talk to you about it as if it were a holy skill of his. Ludwig on the other hand only had a small handful of women that he’d have relations with, but he never talked about them. Ivan, having bragged to his many officials about how many women he’s slept with, you knew he had done this before and he demonstrated it to you, proving himself true.

The way he moved his lips was a bit shy, but not entirely. He was delicate, only moving his lips in a much more passionate manner as time went by. He was quite easy going with his movement, guiding you with his rhythm, knowing that you probably had never done this before. Every few seconds, you would feel his tongue brush against your lip, making your chest flutter. It felt strange and new.

You didn’t notice that his hands were pulling you closer to him. Now, you were practically sitting on the high side of his groin where his core met his hips. Then, his hands placed themselves on the smalls of your back, keeping you there. He was nearly pressing you into him.

Ivan slowed himself and you followed suit. He was becoming a bit more bold with his mouth. Slowly, the tip of his tongue glided against the corner of your mouth and swept across the top of your bottom teeth. Moving carefully, as if he were testing dark waters, Ivan wandered into your mouth. Your cheeks fumed with a stinging warmth as you felt his tongue meet with yours.

It was wet and hot in temperature; the feeling made your skin crawl. He wasn’t toying with you as he encouraged you to become more valiant by stroking your tongue. Not a single smirk curled into his kiss or a single chuckle from his throat. There was no noise between the two of you. Genuinely, he wanted you to relax and release your shared actuality. He desired for you to waltz once again with him. Because there was no one. No eyes. No boisterous whispers. No one could interrupt this. And you secretly desired it as well.

Minutes become seconds. Your tongue moved with his, twirling slowly and discreetly, feeling each other’s texture and heat. It was so simple, so slow, and real. There was no other comparison. It didn’t look or feel like any of the kisses that Gilbert exchanged with his past lady friends, nor did Ludwig’s. When you would watch as husbands and wives bussed each other in the streets of Berlin, it wasn’t the same. Not even kisses between a young engaged couple or school girls and boys was of collation to this. This was so different from them. So much more real. And this wasn’t love…

_ “Not love…” _ You thought dreamily, starting to grasp the means of your conscience.

Then, your eyes snapped open. You parted from his lips hurriedly and pushed yourself off of him, out of his grasp, off of the chair, standing. The air in your lungs was suffocating and toxic and your heart was rushing with hysterical blood flow. You staggered back a few steps, staring at Ivan in confusion, regret, and embarrassment. He, on the other hand, sat there with a surprised expression, not quite sure what was the matter. A moment passed and he had a good understand at why.

You noticed that the office was now much more dreary, dark, and cold. The once splitting, dancing fire was now hot coals and a few flames. Time had flown by and you hadn’t kept track; your eyes were closed. Exactly forty-five minutes had passed; it was now ten minutes to midnight.

Standing there, nearly trembling from many negative feelings, you stared at Ivan.  _ Betrayal _ . That’s what you felt just happened. It now suddenly felt horrid and sinful. You made a fatal mistake.  _ It was a sin. _ You had partaken in a serious crime against yourself, your brothers, your country. He raptured you again, and this time, you liked that he did. It wasn’t right that you did. You were supposed to hate it, slap him, fight him for making such an advantage.

You hesitantly stepped backwards, towards the door. You wanted to run. You had done too much here and it made you sick to stay any longer, not with Ivan looking at you like that. His purple eyes were fixed on you so intently, so sternly. He didn’t appear angry, just grim. However, something told you that it was a bad idea that you should leave.  _ Would he stay there? _

You wouldn’t wait to find out. You couldn’t! Just as you were about to bolt to the door, Ivan stood up slowly, sighing. Your feet were clawing at your legs, begging you to run and escape the office. You couldn’t. Mentally trembling, you remained perfectly still as Ivan approached you, his posture visibly unthreatening. He said nothing to you at first, only gazing down at you with tired, scrutinizing eyes. He seemed so calm, and… somehow desolate.

“No one shall know of this.” Ivan whispered, his tone dripping with promise.

Silence. You glanced away for a moment in thought.

“Gilbert… He can’t know…” You murmured, a tearing fear reaching to poke and proad at your heart. “He’ll…”

“Neither can the Party.” Ivan added, giving you a reason not to slip a word of the incident out. An eye for an eye. “Or the American.”

“I know.” You growled, getting antsy that he was listing more problematic ears. Your body was trembling with an anxiousness you had never felt before. Your thoughts were leeching off of your worries.  _ “Oh God… If Gilbert finds out… If Ludwig--… Fuck...! Fuck! What am I going to do?” _

Ivan stepped a bit closer, his face becoming more severe.

“You do understand the outcome if this gets out.” He cooed, cocking his head, peering down at you as if he were trying to comfort a child. You looked at him, seeming almost skeptical of him, knowing that he wasn’t a man of his word, that he would sing the sinful doing to your brother like a spawn from Hell. There was no way that he would keep it a secret. But at the same time, you had no other means of escape from the happening. And being that Ivan had trust in you, why wouldn’t you trust him? He would receive the same death penalty as you would.

“I know it is vital to you. I promise. Not a word to Gilbert.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, studying his face. It was hard for you to render that he was being completely serious; after nearly seventeen years of his falseness, you had an issue with his trust. But you had to trust him on this. It would take some force feeding, but you could. If this incident went public, both of you would be thrown and plunged into hot water.

You nodded faintly. Ivan continued to stand there, those violet eyes of his were longing, longing that you were loyal to your word. To be honest with yourself, you had the feeling he was feeling the same emotions and thoughts you were having. He wanted to trust you, too, but he didn’t want to. Making a pact with the enemy was a difficult operation for him to stay committed to, especially with the recent history that led to the war.

Finally, he sighed quietly and turned to the glowing embers of the fire, his mind deep in stressed ponders. His eyes peered into the orange, burning coals.

“I take it that you would do the same for my sake.” He mumbled, glancing towards you, and then back to the fire. That was all that he said. He sounded almost admitting, embarrassed by his own answer. But you couldn't render this observation at the moment. It was impossible with the capacity you were handling right then and there. A few moments trekked on and Ivan hadn’t moved. You knew he wasn’t going to say anything further, not unless you spoke. But you couldn’t. What could even you say? Your tongue was iron and your throat solid.

_ “I take it that you would do the same for my sake.” _ You mentally repeated after you hesitantly turned and walked to the door with a painful pace. You opened it carefully and slipped out into the darkness, closing the door behind you after you glanced back at him. He was still facing the dying fire. _ “Trust…” _

Your mind went blank. It was as if the black void of the night swooped into your thoughts and swept them away. All but one.

Ambling slowly down the hall, you touched your lips, hesitantly. The texture was soft and smooth. Ivan had been there, leaving a permanent scar. You were considering whether or not you would scratch them off later in the night after you got back to your room. But you couldn’t stop touching them, feeling the delicacy of them. Ivan was there on your lips, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the chapter? Let me know how you feel and leave a comment down below OR ask me a question on my Tumlbr: TheKittyOnMars. Thank you so much for reading!


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